By The Numbers
by jancat10
Summary: Social worker Elizabeth Bennet hates bankers. Will Darcy is an artistic soul trapped in a banker's world. Beer is spilled, barbs are thrown and love emerges. A love story in 18 chapters, all written, and posting Tuesdays and Thursdays.
1. Chapter 1

Social worker Elizabeth Bennet hates bankers. Will Darcy is an artistic soul trapped in a banker's world. Beer is spilled, barbs are thrown and love emerges.

**By The Numbers-by Jancat**

_P&P—Modern—WIP-MA _

**Chapter 1**

For Charles Bingley, life was simple. It was Point A to Point B. Going to a party meant meeting pretty girls. Sometimes that led to Tab A being inserted into Slot B, and the unfolding of a wonderful few weeks of fun. But tonight's festivities could not be simplified to another one of his best friend's wry observations about his love life. Charles' sister, Louisa, was getting married and it was time to stand up straight and host a bachelor party that would weaken their collective knees—at least until they had to walk down the aisle the next day.

The only hitch in his planning was, as usual, Darcy. Charles had tried to cover all the bases. Yes—the establishment stocked every kind of beer and ale known in North America. Yes—the room would be private, no cameras allowed. And if the entertainment got a little wild, Darcy and his monkish temperament could wander off to the main room's multiscreen bar and stare at SportsCenter. And yes—er, no—Caroline had no idea of their guys-night-out destination, so Darcy could imbibe in peace.

Somehow, though, all of Charles' machinations on behalf of his best friend simply annoyed the man himself.

"You know, Darcy, this is going to be great. Marty's ready to relax, get married and party. Louisa has stopped freaking out over the flowers and place settings, so now Caroline is completely overwhelmed with making it all perfect." Charles glanced at Darcy, adding softly, "And things have calmed down for you too. Let's celebrate and have a good time."

The man gripping the steering wheel eased the sleek sedan into a parking space and shifted into park. He looked through the windshield at the glowing sign for EJ's Place.

"Charles, you don't need to convince me. Marty deserves a great time. He's a lucky guy."

Charles nodded. "But?"

Darcy laughed softly. "Sorry, I'm out of practice with the fun thing. And a sports bar?" He gestured at the sign and shrugged. "But this is Marty's night, right? Let's make sure he has fun and can still stand up tomorrow."

"And remember Louisa's name," added Charles.

The two men climbed out the car and walked toward the entrance. A cold November wind blew dry leaves and empty cups around their well-shod feet. The shorter man turned suddenly, and grabbed Darcy's arm. "Hey D, make sure you lock it. We're calling a cab tonight. I expect you to empty at least three pints by 11."

"Are you nuts?" Darcy's eyes swept the parking lot. "No way, I'm not leaving my car here." He stepped forward. "And quit calling me D."

By 11:30, Marty was happily sandwiched on the dance floor between two energetic dancers teaching him the finer points of juking. With darts ruled off limits as the alcohol intake rose, the rest of the party was focused on speed stacks and beer pong. Darcy stood in the background, watching the revelry and nursing his second Bass Ale. Bumped from behind, he took a step too close to the table, earning cheers and hoots when one of the brimming cups tumbled off the table and splashed beer all over his sweater. "Crap!"

Charles found him heading to the men's room, shaking his head in disgust. "Whoa, wha' happened, D? Got in the way of the game?"

They stopped in the narrow passageway separating the party room from the bar to let a group pass. Darcy gestured at his forest-green sweater and muttered, "I'm all wet. I need to get this off."

He started pulling the sweater over his head, but the cashmere didn't muffle the sound of Charles' voice as he let go with the most commonly spoken words in his bar repertoire: "Whoa…. Check her out."

Years of watching his best friend fall for the girl on the next barstool, in the next office, at the coffeehouse, or in the elevator had inured Darcy to such sentiments. He yanked at the sweater. "Shit! Charles, my sweater's snagged on my watch!"

The younger man wasn't listening. "Man, she is so cute. Look at that smile. C'mon, let's go meet them." He strode, a bit unsteadily, into the crowded bar.

"No! Charles, we have to keep an eye on Marty."

With a final tug, Darcy pulled his sweater free from the thick watchband. He checked that his t-shirt was dry and watched his friend slide onto a barstool next to a tall redhead.

"Seriously?" he grumbled. "There isn't anyone here smart enough or sober enough to bother with, you idiot." He sighed and started wringing out his sodden sweater. A shriek caused him to drop it.

"Watch it, mister. I might not be smart enough or sober enough to bother with, but I don't need your beer spills on my shoes." A pair of green eyes flashed at him. "Or is it vomit? Ick! Go rinse it out, already. And call a cab."

Darcy stared at the girl yelling at him. "I didn't spill anything. Somebody else did."

"Aw, that's what they all say."

Darcy furrowed his brow. "Now wait a minute, I'm not even drunk."

A skinny girl with spiky hair sidled up to the indignant woman. "Lizzy, what happened?"

"It's all good, Char. Just another drunk guy trying to hook up on a lonely Friday night." She looked at her friend and laughingly threw her hands in the air. "But we've been saved! Saved from another guy who sucks in bed."

Charlotte glanced at the man her best friend had insulted. His black hair was messy and his t-shirt untucked, but there was nothing there to reject: He was seriously good looking. He might not have been drunk, but Elizabeth's words seemed to sober him up from whatever he'd been drinking. Charlotte tried to catch his eye and shook her head to dismiss her friend's comments. But he didn't seem to see her. He didn't seem to be seeing anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

For Fitzwilliam Darcy, life was never simple. There were T's to be crossed and I's to be dotted and P's and Q's to be minded. He worried every detail, and never failed to make a few changes to ensure every base was covered—from the specs on a first-draft proposal to his workout regimen to his sister's daily schedule. Friends and colleagues complained he was a control freak; he just knew he'd been the only one in control for most of his sister's life.

"Did it hurt for long?" Darcy tapped a pencil on his desk. "Did you tell Diane that it was throbbing?" He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on a framed crayon drawing of a horse and a princess. "Georgie?"

Her response gave him some measure of relief and he shook his head. "OK, take it slow. I need you sharp enough for a game of Risk tomorrow."

The door opened and Charles strolled into the large, bookcase-lined office. Darcy said goodbye to his sister and nodded, bemused, at his friend. He'd hardly seen the man in the past few weeks and his blue eyes had never shone brighter.

"What's with the bounce in your step?" Darcy asked. "I've never seen you so excited to go out for steaks before."

Charles looked at him blankly. "Steaks? Didn't you get my message? We're having Thai. With Jane." Darcy's eyes widened. "And her sister and a friend," Charles added quickly. "It will be great. She knows this place with the best spring rolls and panang noodles around."

Darcy stared at his phone. "I didn't get the message. Um, I'm not sure it's such a good idea. You go and charm them." _And I can go home and get some work done._

"Nope-you owe me, Darce." Charles shook his head, folded his arms and assumed the stance of an advertising executive who knew he had the upper hand. "Did you ever grace the dance floor with Caroline at the wedding? Nope." Charles smirked and leaned closer. "Did you even wonder how you dodged that bullet? In fact, did you even dance once, other than with Louisa? You owe me."

The two men stared at each other. "Besides, Jane is a physical therapist, and it might be a nice way for you to learn a bit more about what they do." Darcy's brows shot up. "And before you ask," Charles added, his voice low and steady, "No. I haven't said a word about Georgie."

Darcy rubbed his chin. Jane seemed nice. Charles had spent the last few weeks happily distracted by her and full of stories about their latest romantic adventure. Her sister was a big unknown. And he didn't even know the gender of the other one, "the friend." This was not the kind of night he'd counted on. But Thai sounded awfully good.

Jane and another woman were waiting at the bar for them to arrive. Darcy was again struck by Jane's winsome beauty. "The friend" made a different impression. He'd seen her before somewhere. In his world, he didn't run into too many spiky-haired blondes with nose rings. Of course, he certainly didn't try to run into them either. But he couldn't place her. As if that wasn't irritating enough, he wasn't happy to find himself in what appeared to be a double date. With a girl with piercings and God only knew what else underneath her clothes.

"The friend" had recognized Darcy, however. He looked even better than he had that night in the bar. Hopefully he was in a better mood—one that Elizabeth wouldn't dampen when they saw each other. "Hi, I'm Charlie," she said. "Charlotte, actually. But with this guy around," she said, raising her eyebrows in Charles' direction, "I have a feeling I'm going to need a new nickname."

She extended her hand to Darcy, who shook it, looking, as casually as he could, at the delicate chain links tattooed around her wrist. "We all have them," Charlotte explained. "It was a graduation rite we decided would bind us forever. Some of us stopped after this one, but a couple of us decided we really like getting inked."

Darcy's eyebrows rose. _We?_ This was not a conversation he felt comfortable pursuing. The four settled in at a round table. Jane explained that her sister was running late but wanted the group to go ahead and order drinks. "She'll be here in a few minutes," she explained, looking at Charlotte. "Bit of a crisis on the eighth floor."

_Well, whatever that meant_, thought Darcy. _Eighth floor of her apartment building? Her office? Or was it code for some woman's issue? Georgie used to use euphemisms around him to signal to Mrs. Reynolds when she needed something at the store he'd find too embarrassing to buy. _

Charlotte was mid-sentence telling Darcy about the new exhibit at her brother's gallery when a voice over his shoulder whispered, "Sorry I'm late, guys. Hope you're all on your second round!"

Jane jumped from her seat to hug the newcomer. "Jane! Don't! I came straight from work!" Darcy's eyes strayed to her jacket. He eyed it warily, wondering what exactly she did that would provoke such a warning.

Jane laughed and turned her to face Darcy. "William, this is my sister, Elizabeth." Recognition hit them almost simultaneously. _Of course—she's the sister. _

That night at the bachelor party, after the sweater soaking and the tongue lashing, William had left Charles to his own devices, sweet-talking his new friends in the bar. He'd headed back to the party room, tossed the sweater in a booth, slid in next to it and nursed a club soda. The party swirled around him until an hour passed and with it, his interest in anything celebratory. He'd laid his head back, listening to the music and making occasional eye contact with the other designated drivers. Once or twice, his mind drifted and he wondered why that girl had made him feel so stupid and if her eyes always burned so brightly. By the next day, he was determined to put the entire night out of his memory, and to throw out the sweater. Then Georgie found it on the floor of the garage and demanded to know why he'd tossed out the gift she had bought him last Christmas and why it reeked of beer. His explanation, with careful editing, of the previous night's events, amused the teenager, who was in turn, indignant, hysterical and, finally, annoyed that her brother had checked himself out of his best friend's party. She insisted her brother should send the dry cleaning bill to the girl with the angry eyes.

Now, as he looked at the owner of those eyes, he realized they weren't angry. Just very bright, and very amused. _Ah, so she remembered him too._

Elizabeth met his eyes, cocked an eyebrow and stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, William." He looked at her hand and noted the wrist tattoo. Grimacing, he reached out and shook gently. "And you, as well." He glanced away and missed the stink-eyed response his grimace had elicited. The newcomer scooted into the chair next to her sister and rolled her eyes at Charlotte and the stuffy man next to her.

He sat down and, under the gaze of at least two of his dinner companions, wiped his hands on his napkin. Elizabeth smirked, flagged a waiter and asked for a Singha. Jane leaned across the table. "William was nice enough to go along with the change in plans. And Lizzy," she added, turning her gaze to the man studying the menu, "was nice enough to work an extra shift and come straight from work."

_Shift?_ Darcy raised his eyebrows but before he could ask, Jane filled in the blanks. "Social worker at Haven Hospital."

_Ah. The eighth floor._ Darcy nodded and looked back at his menu, missing Elizabeth's puzzled expression and glance at Jane. Her sister shrugged and smiled as Charles squeezed her hand. Elizabeth's eyes warmed as she watched them. Darcy lowered his menu in time to notice their vivid shade of green. Too bad their striking color couldn't hide the snappish personality underneath. He hadn't forgotten her face but it was her words that roared back to him when their eyes met. "_Saved from another guy who sucks in bed_." No locker-room insult or playground taunt had ever cut William Darcy to the quick, but he could still hear her words echoing in his ears.

_So she saw that headline too? Would he never live down one bad relationship? Was there any point to bothering with it? Dammit. Why did he let Charles drag him here? _He glared across the table at his ebullient best friend, who was smiling and nodding at whatever Jane was saying._ Their smiles matched. _He took a deep breath and started silently counting the sconces on the wall. Suddenly he realized Charles was beaming at him.

"Darce, did you meet Liz at E.J.'s? She was with Jane and Charlotte. She's a mean darts player." He winked at Elizabeth and set upon recounting the tale of his defeat at the hands of the most talented wrist and dip shooter he'd ever encountered. Darcy reminded Charles that his beer intake at the bar likely dulled his aim as well. He saw the three women exchange an amused look and heard Charlotte's snort, but then, absorbed in watching the waiter approach with their appetizers, he missed Elizabeth' fiery glance. Darcy managed to focus on his spring rolls, listen to the overlapping conversations, and make dutiful small talk with Charlotte. He posed a few polite queries to Elizabeth. She responded with the practiced answers most people wanted to hear and looked down at her menu. _Like this guy can relate to a place with cinderblock walls and Formica furniture and depressed kids. _Mid-sentence_, _Elizabeth looked up to see him huddled over his phone, reading a text. _Yup—pegged this one. Major-league jerk._

After taking their orders, the server noted a few empty glasses and leaned over Darcy's shoulder to service the table. "Shit!" Water spilled from his pitcher onto Elizabeth's lap. The server immediately began sopping up the overflow while muttering apologies. "No problem, really," Elizabeth muttered. "At least this time it isn't beer. Or vomit." She glanced at William, steadily staring at the diners behind her. She felt a sharp pain in her shin and jumped up, excused herself and headed for the restroom.

Charlotte followed Elizabeth through the door and leveled a stern look at her. "Don't make me kick you again, Liz. Stop being such a bitch to William. Do you know who he is?" Elizabeth, busy patting herself dry with paper towels, nodded. "Um, let's see.… Rich friend of Jane's boyfriend? Rude. Clumsy with beer. Incapable of making conversation."

"He's William Darcy IV. Pemberley Funds? The philanthropist?" She stared into her friend's wide eyes. "God, Liz. I know you never read the business papers anymore, but lighten up. He's just trying to have dinner and get to know his best friend's girlfriend a bit better, and you're dumping on him?"

Elizabeth looked down at her boots, where water drops pebbled on the black leather. She nodded and looked up at Charlotte. "Right, like he's making an effort?" She rolled her eyes. _Ugh._ _A banker. It figures_. "Fine, I can make nice with Sweater Boy. But don't get serious about him, Char. He's kind of stodgy, don't you think?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You and my mother…give it up, my dear. He's not my type. Now let's go. And behave!"

And so she did, for the better part of an hour. She figured Darcy hadn't heard her parting comment. His polite inquiries about her work received slightly warmer responses. She even related the story of her argument with the city over funding field trips for the kids. She didn't address any questions to him. Any curiosity she held about Darcy was tempered by her intent to dive into Google when she got home. She didn't know or care anything about Mr. Moneybags' career, but he _was _familiar beyond the beer-splattered sweater. Elizabeth couldn't remember the particulars, but she was pretty sure he was the guy whose love-life was splashed across the front pages. He was obviously a player—the kind of guy she normally found abhorrent. He was too good-looking and too polite, and most importantly, too good a friend to Jane's boyfriend, to completely dismiss—but his reaction to Elizabeth's profession and the soil it left on her was enough to convince her to avoid his company in the future.

"This was so great! I'm so glad to officially meet Jane's posse," Charles blurted out as he wrapped up the now legendary (to him and Jane) `How We Met' story. "You'll have to meet my sisters." He pulled Jane in for a quick kiss and told his dinner companions they'd meet up outside.

Darcy stared at the door closing behind the happy couple and grimaced while imagining Caroline's reaction to the self-professed "Tattooed Trio." Elizabeth glared at his expression, and Charlotte—still monitoring her friend's behavior- cleared her throat. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and stifled a deep sigh of annoyance. Darcy glanced between them.

Charlotte smirked, fixed her sternest teacher eye at Elizabeth and headed through the door. _Shut up, Charlotte_, thought Elizabeth. As she and Darcy followed, she leaned toward him and said, "Um, sorry for mocking your propensity to spill things. Your sweater survive?" He dipped his head and replied, "Yes, the cleaners even got out the smell. My sister told me to send you the bill, but…." Suddenly they were startled by the flash of camera bulbs. "Hey Darcy, found yourself a new girl? Whatshername?" Two paparazzi stood on the sidewalk, snapping pictures.

Darcy's glare blotted out the shocked reactions of the others in the group. Charles shrugged helplessly and pulled Jane closer. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and then turned his scowl back to the intruders. "Fuck!" He pulled on his coat and stalked to the curb, gesturing at a cab hovering nearby. Elizabeth shook her head and spat out, "Still too stupid and drunk for you?" She stormed off and disappeared down the subway stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Next day's gossip on the New York Post's Page 6 had the photo of a wide-eyed Darcy and Elizabeth and the words: "Darcy Rebounds—And She's A Screamer!"

It was, Darcy thought, not the worst headline featuring his name. The one seven months ago was far worse: "Darcy's Girl Has Best Sex Ever—Without Him!"

Yeah, that was the one. Judith Madsen, a beautiful girl who looked nice on his arm and made his sister laugh but who wasn't what she seemed. Apparently, she was bored by a man who put work and his sister ahead of holidays in Spain, shopping, and the city's social whirl. He didn't think the sex was bad, just infrequent. Breasts shaped to perfection by a surgeon's knife dampened his enthusiasm, and an aversion to the messiness of intercourse put her off. Off him, anyway, and onto the man who'd made a habit of flirting with Darcy's dates. This time, though, it went further than flirtatious banter and touching. No man wanted to be cuckolded. No man wanted to be compared to another in bed. And no man wanted either of those things to be discussed in public, in a newspaper with a readership of thousands. Particularly a man as private and low-key as William Darcy IV. Since taking over his father's business interests, including a well-regarded investment bank, six years earlier, he'd spent his meager free time with his 18-year-old sister, a few close friends, and the occasional short-lived girlfriend. Until Judith, who had turned two months of dating into a public relations nightmare and a boardroom crisis.

Since the embarrassing headlines, he'd barely spoken to a woman unless it was work-related or involved ordering food or drink. In the worst case of awful news trumping awkward news, he stopped wallowing in humiliation when his sister took a fall at school and broke her leg badly enough to require surgery. Shifting his focus to her care and rehabilitation preoccupied him and eased his embarrassment. But it didn't make it easier to trust anyone outside his tight circle.

Last night had been a change of pace. He hadn't wanted to enjoy dinner. But he had. He hadn't wanted to feel like a normal person having a normal conversation. But he had. And he really hadn't wanted to notice that the woman who couldn't stop finding reasons to yell at him had beautiful eyes, a way with non sequiturs, and an enormously appealing laugh. But he had.

He'd loosened up, had a bit of fun and thought Charles' suggestion that they do it again might not be such a bad idea. Jane was very nice. She seemed warm and happy, a better fit than usual for Charles. And with her job as a physical therapist, it might not hurt to talk to her about Georgie. His sister's assigned physical therapist, Diane, sometimes seemed a little too distant and a bit too smug about the progress Georgie was making. He agreed she was walking fairly well after only three weeks out of her cast. But the surgical scars on her leg and the titanium pin in her ankle terrified him. If Charles and Jane were still together in a few weeks, perhaps the four of them could have dinner.

The rest of the "posse" elicited mixed emotions. In spite of her apparent ongoing love of tattoos, piercings and peroxide, Charlotte was smart and funny, and once she made it clear she was playing for the other team, he had been able to relax into a comfortable, enlightening conversation. He wasn't sure what to think about Elizabeth, but he found himself wondering about her a little too often. Witty, beautiful, snarky, overly observant, and saddled with a job he couldn't imagine waking up for. And she was way too concerned about getting things spilled on her. Wonder how she was going to feel about having his name and notoriety smeared all over her?

He sighed, took a last sip of coffee and shuffled the papers on his desk. The more immediate question, and the one he feared most, came to the forefront. How was the board going to feel about his name and face being splattered all over the gossip pages, again? He picked up his phone and scrolled down through his messages. The shit storm had begun. At least, he thought, no one seemed to know her name. Yet.

An hour later, the heavy oak door to his office opened and a familiar voice greeted him. Darcy pulled his head out of the financial pages and stared at his cousin. "What did you say?"

A wiry man with closely cropped brown hair closed the door and eased his frame into a leather club chair. "I asked you, what the hell is going on? You're all over the papers again. Who is this girl? And why is Ken Whitley interested?"

Darcy focused on a mutual-funds story. "There is no girl, Robin. We were just in the same places….It's timing. Her sister is dating Charles. It's nothing."

"Too bad. Or good." Robin nodded and rubbed his chin. "But Ken is asking questions. His exact words were, `Here he goes again.'"

The two men looked at each other. "No need to be a monk, Darce. Just don't screw up again. Or get screwed." Robin smirked. "You know what I mean. And this one seems like a firecracker."

Darcy nodded and pulled off his glasses. "I'd think you'd like me as a monk. Vow of silence and all? I never get a word in anyway."

A wadded paper ball whizzed past Darcy's ear. "You, William Darcy, sworn to silence? Now where's the fun in that?" Robin stood up slowly and grimaced. Darcy watched him stretch back and forth.

"Is your back still bad? You really should see someone about it." Robin's weekend climbing trips had caught with him in the past few months; the intensely athletic 32-year-old had landed hard one too many times rappelling back down a cliff in the tri-state area. Time was not healing the pain and like Darcy, he was not inclined to seek out a diagnosis for his own problems.

Robin replied grimly. "Oh, just the L4 vertebrae, most likely. Might need a cortisone shot or steroids."

Stifling a laugh, Darcy cleared his throat. "You, Mr. Stoic, saw a doctor?"

"Yup. Doctor WebMd. She was quite thorough." Robin ignored his cousin's eye-roll and leaned over the desk to grab a few M&Ms from a crystal bowl. "Peanut? You know, Will, you're lucky no one's ever gone into anaphylactic shock in here. Some morning you're going to walk in and find the poor, allergic cleaning lady sprawled out on your desk." He winked. "And she's not the one you want to find laying there, is she?"

Unconsciously, Darcy's fingers began rubbing the edge of his desk. Back and forth, back and forth. The eight-inch strip of mahogany there was worn and shiny from years of nervous, tense touches. _One, two, three, four, five, six…._

"Probably not, Robin. Probably not." He stood up, grabbed his iPad and some folders and nodded toward the doors. "Ready?"

"I tell you, Darce. You have no life." Robin winced and rubbed his back.

Darcy smirked. "That might be true at the moment, but at least I'll be walking upright in my thirties."

"Ha, ha. It's less walking and more of the horizontal exercise you need, cousin." Robin slapped him on the back and led the way to the elevator.

Life had never been black and white for Elizabeth Bennet. She couldn't see the world that way. Zebras, newspapers, the photographs that dotted her walls…even such classic examples of black and white were in fact nuanced with shades of gray. The only black and white components of her world were the four letters she put behind her name: LCSW. Earning her degree last year as a licensed clinical social worker meant she could drop the pretense of ever finishing her MBA. Her year-long flirtation with the business world, more specifically the banking world, was the past. Not forgotten, but definitely the past. It had begun with altruistic motives—making enough to pay off student loans and finding ways to interest investors in funding programs and businesses which could make a difference in the world.

She should have known better, that's what her parents told her. Elizabeth and her sisters were only a generation away from growing up in coal country; her father trusted no one he'd define as a "higher up." In her first year at Anchor & Freres, Elizabeth learned that lesson the hard way, in black and white. Two colleagues papered over the evidence that one of the firm's largest clients was circumventing costly safety measures at its mines and pilfering its employees' pension funds. The sheer venality of their acts still stunned her, but when she learned of it, her actions were quick. She contacted both the SEC and the Mining Commission with enough information to indict the guilty parties. She'd maintained her anonymity but not her faith in the business world—especially banks.

This morning, as usual, her palms were stained with the ink of the gray lady, her beloved New York Times. But her temperament was colored with the angry yellow headlines splashed across the daily tabloids and the unrelenting blue jokes and speculation which echoed in her ears and popped up in texts from people she was determined to defriend as soon as possible. _Screamer, my ass._

By noon, she was in angry awe of the power of Google. Apparently she was as easy to find as the great Darcy himself. It was mind-boggling how three tabloids, two financial papers, and some guy who claimed he worked for "Dr. Tabitha: Sex Therapist," had tracked her down and found her office number. By the third call, she'd had it. She had patients she needed to see, forms to read through and sign, and calls of her own to make. The fourth time the phone interrupted her day, she was ready.

"Yes, you've reached the office of Elizabeth Bennet. She is not dating nor has she ever dated nor will she ever date William Darcy. She is not his girlfriend and has no interest in even knowing him. And that is on the record."

A loud guffaw nearly split her eardrum in two. "Geez, Elizabeth! Throwing your denial at the world?" Charlotte laughed.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "`Episode One of `My Dating Hell' has started, Char. Just hit fast-forward for me, will you?"

Lukewarm sympathy and an invitation to meet Charlotte's new girlfriend were extended before Elizabeth begged off to finish some paperwork.

As her day went on, she didn't dwell on her lack of warm feeling for one William Darcy IV. He obviously had issues, issues not worth touching even when her boss told her she was more likely to get city funding for expanding the number of beds in her teen intake program if she asked her boyfriend. "After all," Phil Lucas pointed out, "Darcy's got more money than we do."

_Yeah,_ she fumed. _And his sister told him to send me the dry-cleaning bill for his friggin' sweater!? Spoiled brat!_ By that evening, her anger and her curiosity had built into a potent combination and she sat down with her laptop to explore the background of the guy she considered "The Most Annoying Man in the World." It took but one click to set her off. Elizabeth's exasperation with the morning tabloid headlines was nothing compared with the shock of seeing his face, hers _and_ some other girl's captioned, "Darcy Dumped Again! Why Do Women Hate Him?"

She clicked the link and found a detailed history of what appeared to be a rather spotty dating life for the rich scion. Some flannel-clad girls from college, a few models, a photographer, a lawyer or two. Nothing long-term, nothing notable until earlier this year, when his girlfriend left him for what the paper dubbed "a party guy with a simmering soul, a thick wallet, and a hot trail of conquests."

For a moment, her annoyance waned. _Oh geez, Sweater Boy. That really sucks._

She read further. "Did they or didn't they? Is Elizabeth Bennet `the non-girlfriend' just a cover for the mysterious condition of Darcy's sister, who left school last spring after an unexplained accident.' Was it drugs? Booze? Maybe EB knows the true story."

_Oh my god, please tell me I didn't just read that._

She stopped reading after that one, ignoring-as always-all the links to the business-page articles. _Yawn_.

She leaned closer to the screen and perused the photos. There was Darcy in a tux at the Met's Costume Ball. He looked pretty good, she grumbled. Sideburns became him. And there he was in a dark suit, a sweet young thing on his arm. Well, he did clean up nice. She wouldn't have guessed that the tousled guy in the damp t-shirt she'd met at E.J.'s would be a titan of Wall Street. But he was. Case closed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_New York lacks an Oakham Mount and the fields and woods around Netherfield, but between city streets, Central Park and office lobbies, our couple will manage to keep running into each other. _

Until 2 o'clock on Friday afternoon, it was business as usual for Elizabeth. She had patients to check on, meetings to suffer through, and reports to write. Filing the paperwork with the city to save the building she worked in was not on Elizabeth's to-do list, but when her boss, Phil Lucas, was caught in a meeting and absented himself from the process, she became the unanimous choice to step up and head across town to City Hall.

Elizabeth slumped in her hard-won seat on the midtown bus and fumed. It wasn't as though she had anything else on her plate. Such as work. She needed to update her case notes and review the files on two teenagers joining her in-patient counseling group on Monday. And then there was all the other stuff—grocery shopping, doing laundry, dating…. As always, Elizabeth would squeeze in the absolutely necessary domestic duties—after all, she needed food and clean underwear. But a social life was always nice too, and she was looking forward to the end of her workweek. Instead, she was bound for a long afternoon of lines, linoleum and lethargy.

She jumped off the bus, climbed the steps and entered City Hall. After passing through the security check, Elizabeth headed for the Department of City Planning. When she reached the gray, airless cavern of cubicles in the basement, she shook her head in disgust. _And people think __my__ building is depressing?_

It had been love at first sight two years earlier when Elizabeth Bennet, newly licensed clinical social worker, encountered Haven Hospital. The WPA building was a wonder when it was constructed in 1937. Today, it was dwarfed by skyscrapers and modern, boxy high-rises. Yet the contrast made its soft brick and marble exterior even more remarkable. Elizabeth was especially fond of the four limestone sculptures bordering the front steps. The softly rounded sculptures captured children communing with dogs, cats, rabbits and birds, lending a gentle grace to the entryway. Though its beauty shone through to those who cared to look for it, the building itself was in bad shape. Its white marble façade was now gray, its beauty dulled by age, pollution, and pigeon-related debris. The electrical and plumbing systems were antiquated. But a good scrubbing—and about $50 million of renovations and expansion—could bring back the original beauty of what Elizabeth still considered a magical place of healing.

Trying to secure that funding and a promise from the city to save the building from the wrecking ball had brought her to a building that was Haven's polar opposite. Elizabeth shook her head in wonder at the tired gray sameness of the zoning department. There were a few steps required in filing for historical building status. Phil had taken on the glamorous part of the process; after Elizabeth had petitioned the city's Landmarks Preservation Commission to visit the building and pulled up and printed out sheaves of documents on Haven's architectural legacy, Phil had started attending meetings of the city commission. It seemed that cocktail parties were often involved, and that an especially attractive member of the board motivated his attendance.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, bided her time in the underground tombs of New York's most decrepit civic offices, searching out blueprints and microfiche. Today she was getting leg cramps from another long wait. She'd stood on line, read the _Times_' Style section and scrolled through e-mails.

Ninety minutes and two conversations with bored clerks later, she'd filed her paperwork and headed up to the main elevator bank. The smell of coffee caught her attention and Elizabeth headed over to the kiosk. She'd barely finished ordering when she heard her name called and looked around, wondering at her lack of anonymity here. Her jaw dropped.

"Elizabeth?"

_Sweater Boy?_ She stared up into the dark brown eyes of William Darcy. _What the hell was he doing here? And where did he get a suit that fit him so well?_

"Oh, hello, ," she replied.

He blinked at her response. "Do you…um, you don't work _here_ on the eighth floor, do you?"

_Is he smirking at me?_ Elizabeth glanced down at the slim briefcase he held in his left hand. _Smythson. Seriously good stuff._

"Wow, you remembered," she replied, one eyebrow raised. "No, I work in one of the hundreds of other buildings owned by the city. I'm here on official business."

"Sounds very cloak and dagger," he said quietly. Elizabeth's eyes darted up to read Darcy's expression but his face was impassive. His right hand, two fingers tapping against his thigh, drew her attention. Suddenly he thrust the hand in his pocket and cleared his throat. "Official business?"

"Things needed filing, a volunteer was needed to do it, and when the smoke cleared, I was the only one not sitting on my hands."

He grimaced, looked past her and nodded. _Geez, _she thought_, someone have a problem with eye contact?_

"Yes, that sounds familiar."

She looked at him curiously. "You? Aren't you the delegator in chief? When's the last time you had to stand in line holding a number to file paperwork?"

"Everyone has to go to the DMV, Elizabeth."

"True, even those with chauffeurs," she said, slyly. He rolled his eyes at her joke, and she gave him a triumphant smile. "But here you are, and this is not the DMV."

Darcy paused and glanced at the sterile environs' blend of beige, brown and gray metals. It was a 1970s architectural monstrosity. Somewhere behind the false walls and office pods, there was likely some semblance of design integrity. He bit back a comment on the sins of bureaucratic blandness. His dark brown eyes met her green ones and he instead managed a small smile. "No, this building is many things, few of them worthwhile, but it is not the DMV."

Elizabeth nodded. She was staring at his teeth. _Wow. He smiles_. "So what lures you here, away from all the busy, important work of Wall Street?"

Darcy paused. "There's busy and important work to be done everywhere." He dipped his head. "Have a good day, Elizabeth."

She watched him stride away toward the swinging doors. Right. `_This is not the DMV, Elizabeth. Busy and important work everywhere.' Well, thanks for filling me in, Mr. Stodgy and Important._

"Miss, your coffee?" She turned around to take the cup and handed over a $5 bill.

"Oh, the gentleman already took care of it, ma'am."

"The gentleman?"

"Mr. Darcy." The barista smiled and turned to his next customer.

Elizabeth eyed the caramel macchiato, wishing she had the will to toss it out and show that imperious Mr. Darcy what she thought of him. But it smelled awfully good, and, as there were no trashcans in sight, she took a sip and went on her way.

Since the coffee was free, Elizabeth treated herself to a cab ride back to the hospital to clean off her desk, lock her office door, and enjoy a mostly work-free weekend.

She was looking forward to dinner with Jane. Despite sharing an apartment, the sisters had barely seen each other over the past few weeks. Unlike Elizabeth's workday, often starting at 8 a.m. and stretching until 6 p.m., Jane's schedule varied by her appointment book. She might be in her company's physical therapy offices by 7 a.m. and be finished by 3 p.m. on Monday, but start seeing patients the next day at noon and work till nine. For the past few weeks, most if not all of her free hours were dedicated to Charles. But tonight he had a previous commitment, and Jane had left her sister a pink Post-It note on the bathroom mirror: "Margaritas and nachos! My treat!"

Friday night dinner was a ritual they had begun a few years ago when Jane joined her little sister in New York. It had survived boyfriends and dating disasters, job changes, a master's program, and occasional petty arguments, and always proved a good excuse to get out of their cramped apartment on Friday nights. Tonight, Elizabeth thought, would be a wonderful antidote to last Friday night, when she had gone solo to dinner with Charlotte and her "dream woman."

Those two little words had fueled Elizabeth's expectations. She had arrived at her best friend's garden apartment in Queens and found herself in the midst of an art-house romantic comedy. She sat through a delicious dinner of vegetable lasagna and turtle brownies, her head turning back and forth at the banter between the bubbly, newly formed couple.

Today, staring out the cab window, she was still puzzling it out. For Charlotte, Willa Collins was everything her bio on had promised: hot—though she seemed sweaty and damp to Elizabeth; cheerful—in that vacuously airheaded way she and Char always mocked; and smart—though mostly about the actuarial business. Elizabeth had zero interest in learning how long a lifespan the insurance industry calculated for her. Nothing was going to make her give up beer, gummy bears and fried clams. But Willa and Char had hit it off and within three weeks, they were talking co-habitating in Willa's rent-controlled TriBeCa apartment and co-parenting Willa's ferrets. _Matching tattoos were not far off_, Elizabeth mused. So much for the tattooed trio; Jane and Charlotte seemed to be taken and she was facing a future as a third wheel.

Although she'd been annoyed to be left high and dry as the sole guest at the CharWilla dinner, Elizabeth didn't begrudge her sister's recent cancellations; she was glad Jane had met Charles. His natural ebullience matched perfectly with Jane's glowing happiness. As Jane had recited more times than necessary over the past few weeks, "We both love Nora Ephron movies! He ice skates at Rockefeller Center on New Year's Day! He wants to kiss at the top of the Empire State Building! He was a cheerleader at Dartmouth! And he has the bluest eyes…."

Elizabeth snorted at her own cynicism. Jane deserved the best. Fueled by her macchiato, she jumped out of the cab and bounced up Haven's front steps. As was her custom, she ran her fingers over the statue at the top of the stairs. On the way out, she'd be sure to tap the fourth statue. Her colleagues laughed at her need to "share the love," as Mary King, one of the art therapists, called it. With her clinical training, she knew she was anthropomorphizing cold stones, but Elizabeth didn't care if she looked weird. She simply didn't want anyone left out. Not even 75-year-old statues.

As she headed toward the elevator, she saw Mary with her latest flame. Just as Jane did, Mary attracted men like flies. Both tended toward short-term relationships. Jane dated doctors and friends and relatives of former patients. Mary's weekend clubbing usually paid off in hilarious stories for her coworkers on Monday and a retinue of short-term boyfriends. How she spent her time outside of the hospital didn't seem to affect her professional success and seemed to give her insight into some of Haven's more difficult patients. Of course, Elizabeth thought, everyone focuses differently, and she stayed better focused without male distractions.

"Hey Elizabeth," said the petite blonde. "Have you met George? He works downstairs, on six." Mary squeezed the arm of a tall, tanned blond man and he flashed a bright grin. _Wow, score another hot one for Mary. _

Elizabeth smiled but before she could speak, her phone chimed with Jane's familiar tone. She took a step back and read the message screen. Within seconds, she rolled her eyes and stifled her disappointment as Jane cancelled, again. Charles desperately wanted her to join him Chez Darcy for game night and Jane was eager for her sister to join the fun. _"Please come too, Lizzy? Charles' sisters will be there."_

_Game night? With a guy who would destroy them all at Monopoly?_ Elizabeth ran her hand through her dark brown curls and clicked off her phone. "Dammit. Friggin' Darcy."

A soft male voice spoke behind her. "Everything okay, Elizabeth?"

She turned and saw George standing in front of her. Mary was waving as she stepped into the elevator. Elizabeth raised her hand in a half-hearted wave and sighed.

"Mary had to get back to work. I'm George Wickham. It's nice to finally meet you." He gave her a broad smile. "I've seen you in the cafeteria once or twice, but I haven't noticed you at the clubs with Mary and the girls."

_Geez, this guy is really handsome, like a surfer. A surfer model. How did I miss seeing him at the salad bar? _She dragged her eyes away and glanced at the bulletin board over his shoulder.

"Oh I've been, but the last few weeks have been very busy. And I have this regular Friday night thing with my sister," she added. "Usually."

"Like tonight?" George leaned toward her. "Did I hear you say the name Darcy? _The_ Darcy?"

Elizabeth stared at him. She nodded.

"Well, you have him pegged. `Friggin'' is right. Our families go way back. I could tell you stories."

Elizabeth took a step back.

"It's a long and winding tale. Mary knows." George leaned closer to her. "I hope your sister's not dating him. The papers had it right, you know."

Her eyes widened. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Really? Well, you're Mary's friend, and if you're half as nice as she is, I don't want to see you or your sister get hurt." George smiled at her, his blue eyes flashing. "Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. I'll see you around."

Elizabeth tossed her empty cup in the trash can and punched the elevator button. _Crappy coffee_, she thought. She felt queasy.

Notes:

WPA: The Works Progress Administration (also known as the Works Project Administration) was the largest and most ambitious of President Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal programs. At its peak in 1938, it employed three million unskilled men, women and youth to carry out public works projects, including the construction of public buildings and roads, and operated large arts, drama and literacy projects. The WPA fed children and distributed food, clothing, and housing. Almost every community in the United States has a park, bridge or school constructed by the agency.

Smythson of Bond Street has been making fine leather goods since 1887.

DMV: The Department of Motor Vehicles, where Americans go to get their drivers' licenses.

_Two worlds collide again. He bought her coffee. Is this progress?_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on the first four chapters. I'm so glad By the Numbers is finding a receptive audience here. And since it is already all written, I think I'll start posting three days a week-Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. As for today, let's play the game of love, or maybe just Trivial Pursuits._

**Chapter 5 **

Will Darcy would bet serious money that he had played every board game manufactured by Ravenscraft, Milton Bradley, Hasbro and Parker Bros. He knew the secrets to winning Sorry!, the best way to ensure losing the crown in Pretty Pretty Princess, and the likelihood of any crimes being committed using a lead pipe in the conservatory in Clue. Georgiana had been obsessed with recreating family traditions, and board games were sacrosanct to her and to her older brother.

Friday Game Night was her favorite, and she had shaped it with her own ideas. Georgiana had no memories of their mother, Anne, so Darcy took what he remembered from his 12 years with her and embellished where he could. His father, William III, had no patience for any games but chess or golf, and was perplexed by his son's enthusiasm for drawing buildings or paging through his mother's design sketchbooks. Every time his young son would ask him to build a train track to meander around the entire first floor, "Trey" Darcy would remind him to follow the layout instructions on the box.

Anne never had any problem kneeling on the floor to help her son construct a train track under the dining room table. Her opposing propensity to think outside the box and finish her degree in architecture while raising a young son brought the first signs of trouble to the marriage of the banking scion and the socialite. From ages four to seven, Will split his time between New Haven, where his mother worked on her Masters in architecture at Yale, and New York, where the stalwart Mrs. Reynolds played Go Fish with him and rolled out cookie dough. The coloring books stayed untouched as he filled blank-paged notebooks with scribbles and drawings of cows and spacemen, houses and cars. He leaned over his mother's shoulder as she designed the logo for her new firm, WDIV Partners. "I named it for you, Will. You helped me remember to play," she told him. "Maybe someday you might work here with me."

Her words never came true. Five years after starting her company back home in New York, Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy died in a car accident en route to a construction site, leaving behind a confused 2-year-old, a devastated 12-year-old and a resentful, grieving husband. Entertaining Georgie and creating happy family time for her became Will's project. He read up on the castles of Europe so he could draw on demand just the right home for whichever princess his little sister wanted. He showed her how to build pillow forts and glue rhinestones on her tiara. And it was under their beds that he hid his mother's books and journals when his father shut down WDIV a year later. Trey was gone before another decade passed, suddenly stricken by a heart attack that didn't surprise those around him. Too much work, too little play, and too little interest in anything that took his mind off of the family business took a deadly toll just after his fiftieth birthday.

The family left behind made do. Will and Mrs. Reynolds kept up a few traditions and invented others. In the absence of a nuclear family, their cousins Robin and Annie, or Charles and his sisters had rounded out the table for board games. But as the years went on, it was more difficult to fill the table as individual social demands grew greater. Caroline preferred parties to Parcheesi, Charles had trouble saying no to pretty girls, and Louisa got serious with Marty. Mrs. Reynolds had to tend to her ailing sister. Annie had her battles with her weight and begged off any social gathering involving food. Robin took to making an early exit so he could manage a late dinner date. Occasionally Will had a work or social engagement he could not evade.

Even Georgie grew up and wished to spend her Friday nights out with friends. At least she did until five months ago, when her fragile body hit the hard pavement at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Will couldn't understand how his graceful sister, who loved dancing and gymnastics, could have tripped down the familiar steps by her school. But he was grateful for that athletic training, which helped soften her landing and alleviated injuries which could have been far more serious than a concussion, a cracked rib, bruises and a leg broken in three places. All Georgie remembered was bending over to pick up a dropped book when a man called out her name. She woke up in the ambulance.

Tonight, Will thought, harkened a return to old times, or perhaps a harbinger of new and future days. Not only were the newlyweds, Louisa and Marty, coming, but Charles was bringing Jane and Caroline. According to Charles, the two women had met and were fast friends. Darcy shook his head at that thought. Only Charles, the fast-talking ad man, could spin a friendship between "his angel" and perhaps the most neurotically self-centered woman of Darcy's acquaintance. Caroline was funny and smart, but her need to outshine any woman under the age of 40 and to wield control over every setting was suffocating. She took more pride in and talked more about Louisa's wedding than did the bride.

Perhaps Jane could allow Caroline's acerbic personality and comments to roll off her shoulders, but Will didn't think her sister would—if and when the two women ever met. _Elizabeth. Where did she get that chip on her shoulder? _He had been shocked to run into her today, and she seemed to share his surprise. But the unexpected encounter didn't delay her teasing him, and he was glad it hadn't slowed her down. _She's really beautiful when she smiles. _

Suddenly he realized he hadn't apologized for his angry reaction to the paparazzi after dinner last should have said something to her today, but seeing her had knocked the common sense out of he could send her something. _Flowers? No. A plant, maybe. That meant friendship, right? Establish some new roots, maybe? Or maybe a zen rock garden or something. Crap, I should have done this last week. I'll probably see her again one of these days with Charles and Jane._

Will shook off his self-recrimination. _What was left to do?_ Appetizers were in the refrigerator and Mrs. Reynolds' chili was bubbling on the stovetop. Something was missing. He needed to do more than pull out the trays, stir the pot and plate the crackers. Will strode into the kitchen and leaned against counter, tapping his fingers as he thought. Suddenly he pulled open the refrigerated cheese drawer. He was still staring at its contents when Georgiana walked in the room.

"Will, who's Lizzy?"

_What?_ He wheeled around. "What?"

Georgie leaned past him and pulled out brie, cheddar, boursin and taleggio. "Lizzy. Who is she? Charles just texted you and said Jane is bringing Lizzy so our numbers are even."

_Even?_ Will silently counted the names. "Seven."

His sister looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. "Yes, Will," she said slowly. "And Lizzy makes eight. That's what Charles said. Who is she?"

"Elizabeth is Jane's sister." _And she's coming here. Tonight. Here. Forget the plant, I have to say something._

"And?" Georgie leaned against the counter and stared at her brother. He shook himself back to her question and looked at his little sister.

_She's resting her leg_, Will thought. _I hate the day after physical therapy, she's always in pain_. He peered at her more closely. Georgie was wearing her `smart glasses.' She only did that when she was studying, taking an exam, or planning to destroy him at the game table or on Xbox. He'd barely seen her wear them in the past few months, so it seemed a good sign. She'd piled her dark hair up in a bun to complete the intellectual look.

"Got big plans tonight, I see. You're wearing your fake glasses," he said. "And reading my texts."

"Will, you're avoiding the subject. And they have real glass in them. I bought them last year at Saks. Don't mock the fashion statement." She pushed the glasses down to the tip of her nose and peered over them at him. "Look. I already know Jane is an angel and a ginger and she cooks amazingly and loves romantic comedies. Charles never mentioned her sister."

Will pulled a knife out of the wooden block and started slicing the white cheddar. He turned over the thoughts in his mind. "She's a social worker who is really good at darts and likes coffee."

Georgie pushed up her glasses and smiled. "Interesting." She leaned over and grabbed a slice of the seven-year-old cheese. "Good work with the knife, bro. I'll make sure everyone knows you cut the cheese."

His sister was still tentative about moving too quickly—all these months of wearing casts and adjusting to two titanium screws in her ankle made Georgie a bit hesitant to scoot out of his way as she would have in the past. Thus he was able to land a well-aimed thwack with the baguette on her bum. The buzzer sounded, and a quick glance to the security screen showed them the laughing newlyweds had arrived. He pushed the button to grant them entry.

A moment later, the elevator dinged and the Hursts were at the front door. Marty made a beeline for the bar to fix a pitcher of martinis. Louisa sat down in the living room for a chat with Georgie and filled her in on the joys and drawbacks of honeymooning in an exotic locale requiring mosquito netting. Darcy headed back to the kitchen to finish up his cheese platter.

He was in the foyer, carrying a bowl of chips and salsa into the living room, when Charles burst in, one arm wrapped around Jane. "Hey Darce. Used my charms on Wallace downstairs so we could sneak in, unannounced!"

Charles hung up their coats while Jane blushed and presented Darcy with a tin of homemade gingersnaps. She gave him a quick hug and said she was looking forward to meeting Georgie. Before he could finish telling them where to find her, Charles had grabbed the chips from Will and was pulling Jane through the doorway while warning her about Marty's martinis. As the couple disappeared down a wide hallway, Elizabeth stepped forward. With a smile, she thanked Will for the invitation to Game Night, and handed him a small beribboned box. "Espresso chocolate beans," she said. "Thanks for the coffee."

Fighting back a slow, embarrassed blush, Will nodded. "Um, thank you. It was my pleasure. But you didn't need to do this."

"Neither did you. But you did. So thanks. We're even." As Elizabeth turned to follow Jane and Charles, Will grabbed her arm. She stopped, glanced down at his hand and looked at him, warily. He pulled his hand away.

"Look, Elizabeth. I just wanted to apologize about last week at Pok Pok Ny? After dinner, with the cameras? I was rude and it seems there's some confusion about you and me, and I, well, I'm sorry."

His words hung in the air as Elizabeth's head nodded but her eyes seemed fixed on a distant point. She took a deep breath and finally looked at him. "We're both at fault here. I've been told by some good sources that I was pretty rude to you at E.J.'s. And apparently, a fairly nice sweater had to pay the ultimate price for our little tiff," she added. A small grin spread across her face. "Shall we hash it out over Boggle or something?"

_Her eyes were so bright, so full of mischief. Where does that come from?_ Will smiled back and gestured at his gray pullover. "And my sweater has nothing to fear?"

"Well, just in case you try to cheat or something, you might want to keep some seltzer nearby. Removes stains, you know." Elizabeth turned away, heading in the direction Charles and Jane had gone. She stopped and turned and, in a loud stage whisper, called back, "And I promise. No red wine around you or your beautiful rugs!"

Will stood still, mesmerized, his eyes following her down the hall as she kept talking. "I need to find Jane. Charles was going on and on about your kitchen. When was this place built? It's amazing."

_About 1910, McKim, Mead, and White_.Before Will could form another coherent thought, or answer her question aloud, the doorbell rang. Caroline had arrived with an armload of bags and boxes. "I brought goodies!" she squealed, depositing two large Dean & DeLuca parcels in Will's arms and carrying a small Zabar's bag to the kitchen.

Will followed dutifully. They encountered Jane admiring the sweeping soapstone counters, her hands spread over the countertops. "Beautiful," she breathed.

"They are indeed," Elizabeth added. Will watched as the sisters took in the cherry cabinetry, multiple sinks and framed menus dotting the wall. Caroline dropped her bag on the counter and commanded him to unload all of the treats she'd brought for "dearest Georgie."

"She doesn't get out much these days. I've barely seen her," simpered the thin brunette, clad head to toe in black. She eyed Elizabeth and extended a hand. "You must be Jane's sister. The social worker."

Putting on her best Bennet manners, Elizabeth returned a tight smile and shook Caroline's pale, waifish hand. She stared at the woman's orange fingernail polish and four-inch orange heels. "Why, yes, I am. The social worker."

Charles glanced between the two women. "Oops! Sorry ladies, forgot my manners. Elizabeth, this is my sister, Caroline. I was telling her about your job."

"Yes, it sounds all-consuming. And so rewarding," Caroline tittered and leaned forward to air-kiss Jane's cheeks. "Jane, wait till you see what I found in Milan. Amazing."

"Caroline is an assistant buyer for Bergdorf, Elizabeth." Jane shot her sister a small smile.

"Head assistant buyer," Caroline asserted. "Social work is so interesting. But the title is so odd. It sounds like a party planner, but it isn't."

There was only one person who could break the ensuing silence. Marty Hurst entered, a pitcher in one hand and ice tongs in the other.

"Who needs a drink?

Everyone grabbed a tray of food and followed Will to a sprawling, luxurious living room. Once introductions were made and the beauty of the room remarked upon, they settled into an intimate seating area surrounded by built-in bookshelves and detailed cabinetry. Wine and martinis were poured, beers and sodas offered, and the cheese and appetizer trays properly exclaimed over. Elizabeth complimented the cheese choices, especially the taleggio. Caroline paused and looked at the interloper. "Why Eliza, have you never had such a treat before? You should go to France for the Brie de Meaux. The best cheeses are always found at Androuet."

Elizabeth swallowed a last bit of cracker and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Really? You are so smart about cheese, Caroline." She returned Caroline's smug smile. "It's so interesting to know about goats and cows and which grasses and feeds lead to the tastiest dairy products."

Caroline coughed, a small bit of cheese flying into her napkin.

"Careful, Caroline! Red wine will stain!" Marty cried.

While Caroline stalked off to the bathroom, the Bennet sisters took an immediate interest in Georgiana, who parked herself on the floor by the bookshelves and pulled out one box after another, asking the sisters which games they liked best. They all had a story or two to share about nearly every game stacked in the bookcase. Jane loved Operation, Elizabeth adored Masterpiece. Louisa and Marty had a mutual love for Scrabble, and Charles was a big fan of Clue—especially the Simpsons' edition. Caroline floated back to the group and trumpeted the great joys of backgammon. Her brother snorted. "Caroline, you kept the Ouija board under your bed!" Charles cried. "And you were always playing Mystery Date."

"And how about you two?" Elizabeth said to the Darcy siblings. Georgie stole a glance at her brother. "I like The Game of Life," she said. "You get to drive the cute little car around, have a big family, and you never know what will happen."

Her brother stifled a smile. "Luck, chance and skill, lots of choices to determine them."

Elizabeth nodded. "And you never know how Life will turn out, eh?" She looked at the man in the gray sweater. "And how about you? Monopoly, right? Or is it Battle of the Sexes?"

Georgie laughed, prompting a puzzled glance from her brother. He turned, and his eyes met Elizabeth's. "No. I've always been pretty fond of Connect Four and Battleship."

Charles again broke the silence. "Hey, time's a'wasting. I need to kick some butt. Let's play!"

It began peacefully enough with a group favorite, Pictionary. Charles, Jane, Elizabeth and Marty hunkered down against Darcy, Georgie, Caroline and Louisa.

Charles' team quickly racked up points with their drawing and guessing skills. Will's group rallied but Caroline, busy getting the picture details just right, derailed them against the timer.

After a break to enjoy Mrs. Reynolds' chili and to fill their plates with the treats—some bought on the Upper East Side, others baked at home—it was back to business. The box of Trivial Pursuit came out. The two confirmed couples quickly decided that it would be more fun to play in pairs, and naturally, the two couples had to be together. Caroline seized Darcy's arm and cried, "You and me, Will!" Before he could respond, Georgie had smiled at Elizabeth and asked her the key question of the game. "Pink or green game piece, Elizabeth?"

Will sighed and grabbed the round brown token. "Oh Will, ugh." Caroline grabbed it from him and reached for the almost, but not quite Tiffany-blue token.

The game moved at a lightning-fast pace.

_The French lost this climactic battle in the First Indochina War._

"Dien Bien Phu," shrugged Elizabeth.

_This orphaned elephant was raised by the Little Old Lady_.

"Babar!" cried Georgie.

_This president fathered more children than any other?_

"John Tyler." Will asserted. "Fifteen kids with two wives."

_This actress had her legs insured by her studio for $1 million with Lloyds of London._

"Betty Grable." Louisa knew her models and movie stars.

_He developed the oral polio vaccine_.

"Albert Einstein!" Marty cried. "Wait, no! Brooks! Albert Brooks!"

"Almost, Marty." Jane said to him gently. "It was Albert Sabin." She showed him the card.

The game quickly boiled down to an intense competition between two teams: Darcy 1 and Darcy 2. Georgie and Elizabeth had collected every category pie-piece except for Sports & Nature. Thanks to Caroline's impetuous and ignorant responses to a number of questions, Will and Caroline still needed Arts & Literature. The gloves came off. Actually, Elizabeth seemed to wear a velvet glove over her iron fist, but most of her verbal punches were aimed at Caroline.

_Youngest man ever to become president?_

Darcy immediately answered, "Teddy Roosevelt."

"No, Will! JFK! I'm sure of it!"

Darcy pulled his arm out of Caroline's iron grip. "Kennedy was the youngest elected, Caroline. But Teddy was the youngest to take office, when McKinley was assassinated."

Elizabeth eyed them over the card. "Are you sure? Give us your final answer." Georgie's eyes gleamed at the opposing team.

"JFK!" Caroline screeched. She shot Elizabeth a triumphant glare.

"Dammit, Caroline!" Will's head dropped down to his chest. He closed his eyes and started to silently count to ten.

"Wrong-o, Caro." Elizabeth flashed a devilish grin at the sputtering woman, who immediately demanded to see the card. "T'was Teddy."

"William! This card is wrong. I need my phone. I'll Google it for you!"

Will looked up, shook his head and met Charles' woefully amused eyes with an implacable stare. "No. It's not. It was Teddy Roosevelt, Caroline. Like I said. Repeatedly." He reached for the card box. "Your turn, ladies."

Georgie rolled the dice. "Four! Sports & Nature!"

Will pulled out a card and read it, groaning inwardly at the easy question. "He held the Major League Baseball record for the most consecutive number of games played until 1998 when it was beaten by?" He looked at his sister, biting her lip and whispering in Elizabeth's ear. Elizabeth nodded. Georgie turned to Will and responded.

"Lou Gehrig and Cal Ripken Jr."

Charles cheered her answer as Will nodded._ Atta girl,_ he thought. _She really does pay attention to all those stats I never shut up about. Ripken. 2,130. 1982-98. Gehrig. 2,632. 1925-39._

Elizabeth smiled victoriously at her partner and then at her opponents. "Roll, Georgie. Let's wrap this baby up."

The next roll took them to the center hub of the game board. Caroline reached past Will and grabbed a card out of the box.

"Rules say we get to choose the hardest question, so.…" She licked her lips and scanned the card. Her brows furrowed in frustration as she weighed the chances of one question against another.

"Come on, Caroline. Pick one," Marty drawled sleepily from his spot on the floor. His prowess in martini-making made him a popular man at parties but an unpopular teammate on Game Night.

Will sat back and waited.

"Oooh. Got it." Caroline squared her shoulders and directed the question to Elizabeth. "What are the first seven digits in pi?"

Will shot forward. _Are you kidding me? That's in this box? Seven numbers?!_

"Let me see that card," he said.

Caroline twisted away. "No, Will. No peeking! Let's see if they know the answer!"

Georgie watched Will's attempts to get the card from Caroline. She picked up her glasses from the table and pushed them on her nose. Elizabeth was mouthing numbers and looking at her fingers.

"Come on, girls! You're running out of time!" Caroline preened.

Elizabeth glared at Caroline and then at Will. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Okay, 3.1415926…."

_…5359. Wow, amazing. _Will couldn't help a small smile._ Touché, Elizabeth._

Caroline's eyes widened, then she shrieked. "No! You're wrong! Our turn." She leaned over the box of cards and shoved the card back into the middle of the tightly packed deck.

"No, we're not, Caroline! It's 3.1415926…" said Elizabeth. "Look at the card."

"Oops, I put it back. But you're wrong."

Georgie's head moved back and forth between the two women. She looked at if she wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

Will swore under his breath and glared at his teammate. "No, she's right. It's 3.14159265359. You must have misread the card, Caroline. They win."

Caroline scowled. Georgie cheered. Elizabeth laughed at Caroline's petulant expression.

"Hey Caroline, maybe you should dig out your Ouija board and ask it where the card is hiding," Charles said dismissively.

Will watched Elizabeth give his sister a quick hug. "Nice job, ladies." Elizabeth was smiling at Georgie. She met his eyes and winked.

"Not too mad about losing, are you?" Elizabeth asked. "And on a math question?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He felt like an idiot, unable to think of an answer. Will cleared his throat and stood up. "Anyone need a drink?"

Everyone rose to stretch their legs. After steadying herself, Georgie offered to show Jane and Elizabeth the rest of the vintage pre-war apartment. Will, pouring himself a glass of seltzer, saw them standing at the windows and gazing out at the view he took for granted.

The sisters had already admired at the huge windowed reception room, and now they appeared stunned at the panorama before them, the twinkling lights of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Central Park.

Georgie gestured to the gracious dining room, its red walls covered in with mirrors and art in heavy frames. Jane fell a step behind as Charles caught up to the tour. As Georgie led Elizabeth down the wide hallway, the light beaming through an open door prompted the younger of the sisters to gasp. Elizabeth wandered into a cavernous room, its walls lined with leather-bound books. The only space not filled with books had a floor-to-ceiling window. "Wow. Is this your library?"

Georgie nodded and gestured. "Will has everything categorized, so there's art and architecture over here and here," she said, pointing to three walls, "and the rest are all histories."

"No accounting books? No novels?" Elizabeth joked. Georgie shrugged.

"Most of the novels are in the study, or in the living room."

Elizabeth's eyes fell on an angular, low-seated wooden chair. She had seen one like it in a design book. "That chair, it's amazing. It's an art piece, isn't it? I saw it at MOMA."

"Yes," a deep voice responded. Elizabeth looked up to see Will in the doorway. "Rietveld. Deconstructionist armchair."

"An original?"

Georgie walked over to Elizabeth and plopped down gently on an overstuffed sofa. She leaned forward and ran her hand over the chair's shiny black arm. "No, a replica. Will built it. It's amazing to look at, isn't it?" She wrinkled her nose. "Not that comfortable though."

croeso/images/rietveld_

The glossy painted wood was so smooth. Elizabeth looked up at Will. "May I try it?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth sat down slowly on the hard blue seat and leaned back against the tall red back. Her knees rose up, and while the varnished wood was unyieldingly hard, she felt absolutely no pressure on her lower back. "Wow. I don't think I could make it through a double-feature, but this is really relaxing." She smiled at her hosts. "Jane has to try this out."

A cacophony of voices alerted them that the rest of the group was on its way. "Where is everyone?"

Caroline walked into the room. "Oh dear, Eliza. Are you stuck in that Ikea chair?"

Marty, hard on Caroline's heels, let out a loud guffaw. "Geez, Caroline. Get out of the stores and get thee to a museum."

Louisa, standing behind her husband, rolled her eyes and tugged her sister out the room with a question on the newest spring color trends. Jane and Charles squeezed past Marty. Jane smiled at the vision of Elizabeth, her red sweater and black slacks contrasting yet blending into the chair. She looked at Will. "Charles says your kitchen is his favorite room here, Will, but I think my sister has found hers."

"Jane, you have to try this chair! It's great for the lower back." Elizabeth leapt up and led her sister over to the chair. Jane settled into it, nodded her agreement with Elizabeth, and began a quiet conversation with Georgie, still perched on the ottoman.

Charles watched the scene and elbowed his friend. "Was the chair designed to help back pain?"

The taller man raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I think it was all about the well-being of the spirit and harmonic humanity or something." He rubbed his chin. Georgie was pointing to her ankle, gesturing with both hands and talking animatedly to Jane and Elizabeth. _Amazing. His shy sister was bubbling over. Absolutely amazing._

"Harmony and primary colors," Charles replied, chuckling.

_Yes,_ Will thought. The colors were brighter than he remembered.

_Did anyone get dealt a bad hand? Share your thoughts, please!_

Notes:

998 Fifth Avenue was the first luxury apartment building constructed on Fifth Avenue above 59th Street. It was built in 1910 by James T. Lee, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis' grandfather.

Dean & DeLuca and Zabar's are high-end food emporiums in New York.

The Red-Blue Chair, designed in 1923 by Gerrit Rietveld.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6  
**

Despite her brilliance in Trivial Pursuit, there were a lot of things Elizabeth Bennet hadn't figured out. Rocket science. The concept of crocheted toilet paper covers. James Joyce. How to make a decent meringue. And at 26, she didn't understand how the endless stretch of days before Christmas which she'd had to endure as a child had turned into the compressed timeframe of her adulthood.

Tonight, as Elizabeth curled up on her sofa with a bowl of cheddar popcorn, she realized how tough the Christmas season had been for her parents. _Four daughters, two mortgages, and jobs that kept them working right to the brink of the holiday._

Yes, Christmas was in four days, and her to-do list was longer than her letter to Santa. Shopping, wrapping, parties…and the time to search the city for something, anything, was running short.

Elizabeth had already celebrated at work earlier that day with the annual eighth-floor holiday party. It was a difficult time for psychiatric patients, and the teenagers she worked with seemed to feel it most keenly, if less obviously.

They shared with her that they felt guilty acting sad or difficult around their families during the holidays, especially when the magic of the season—be it dreidel games or decorating the tree—had worn off and the inevitable letdown had begun. But all of the outpatient-group kids had agreed to stay in touch on the private Facebook group page Elizabeth had created. She had made it clear she expected full reports—public or private-on cookie-making, ugly holiday sweaters, mustachioed aunts, and social outings, as well as on their emotional highs and lows. As the gathering drew to a close, she pressed a single polished stone into each teen's hands; the word, "Believe," was inscribed in each one. Elizabeth had a teary subway ride home.

Now, from her perch on the sofa, she was trying to focus her attention on that to-do list before she and Jane headed home to Meryton in three days. Elizabeth wasn't sure just how easily Jane would part with Charles; the two had become inseparable since they had met that first weekend in November. While Elizabeth was enjoying the extra space in their tiny apartment during her evenings alone, she was looking forward to some quality time on the train and in their shared bedroom back home.

_Home._ Under the same roof with her parents and sisters didn't sound restful or relaxing, but that's what holidays were all about, right? Thanksgiving and Christmas meant crowded tables and too few bathrooms and games of hearts and Uno. Lacking sons and disavowing any interest in the rough and tumble of football, Tom Bennet instead organized his girls around the kitchen table. Once cleared of dirty dishes and pie, their card games there became the high point of family holidays. During Thanksgiving, he was left home alone while the Bennet women celebrated Black Friday at the malls, but he staked his claim to their attention on those post-turkey Thursday afternoons, and on Boxing Day a month later. It was one of the best parts of the holidays, if not the best, for his second eldest. Her five days at home for Christmas would include even more family competitions.

Of course, thinking about games brought back memories of Game Night at the Darcys two weeks earlier. Elizabeth had been studiously avoiding thinking about that evening. There was simply too much to mull over; she wasn't sure she wanted to think about the magnificence of their home, or about how much fun she'd had there, or about how wrong she'd been about Georgie. She was not a spoiled brat who demanded Elizabeth pay for dry cleaning. She just had a brother with an underdeveloped sense of humor who made it sound that way. Sometimes Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was wrong about him too.

_William Darcy. He was … complicated. He barely spoke, but he was full of smiles for his sister. And he made an effort and apologized to me!_ Of course, Elizabeth remembered that he had stared a lot too, but she gave him points for not blowing up at Caroline when she kept blurting out the wrong answers or recoiling too noticeably when the woman was braying on about the delicacies she'd brought to share with him at an undisclosed later date.

_The Hursts had had a smart idea,_ she mused, leaving _right after the games and missing out on Caroline's soliloquies on the high life. Of course, it also saved them from helping carry all the dishes back to the kitchen._ Darcy had looked like he was having a stroke as Caroline went on and on about the fine foie gras and shellfish-stuffed piquillo peppers. She was not amused when Charles reminded her that Darcy was allergic to shellfish. That's when Elizabeth-who, along with Jane had rolled up her sleeves to scrape the plates and rinse them in the jaw-dropping, Tuscan-tiled sink—had stifled a laugh. Caroline had glared at her and spotted her bracelet tattoo. "Oh my god," she shrieked. "Is that a tattoo?! You're inked?" She rolled her eyes. "How interesting."

Elizabeth had turned around and seen Georgie staring at her wrist. Will had been eyeing his sister nervously until he had shifted and met Elizabeth's eyes. He had given her a tight smile. _Was he mortified his sister saw my tattoo or that I have one and despoiled his house?_

The tension had been broken, she recalled, by her sister's boyfriend. Charming as ever, Charles had exclaimed, "You know, Caroline, Jane has the same tattoo. It makes them members of a very small, very exclusive, invitation-only group. Someday," he had added, meeting Jane's eyes, "I should be so lucky to get one too."

Elizabeth had been grateful the tile wasn't scratched when Jane had dropped a handful of sterling silver spoons into the sink.

Now, two weeks later, while her sister continued humming along on a lovestruck high, Elizabeth was still trying to figure out Sweater Boy. He was too young to be so grumpy, too good-looking (she grudgingly admitted) to be so frumpy. _Could you call a 29-year-old a curmudgeon? One who'd been spotlighted in New York magazine's "Hot! (And Smart)" issue? What was his problem? That woman who dumped him…was she right? Is he as dull when horizontal as he seems to be when he's vertical?_

Elizabeth poured herself a glass of apple cider and clicked on the TV. _Paul Newman in a sweaty t-shirt. This could be good._

As she watched Paul wielding a shovel on the chain gang, Elizabeth pondered William Darcy a bit more. He didn't seem dull, just quiet and uncomfortable. He bought her coffee but didn't have the gift of conversation. He had a big life. _William Darcy: big, not glib,_ she giggled. He lived in a veritable palace across from the Met, and his kitchen had separate refrigerated drawers for cheese and fruit. He had a doorman who played in a fantasy football league with Charles, and a housekeeper who was probably shocked to find a tidied-up kitchen the next morning.

_Oh well. Our worlds collided. And mine is…not as nice._ She stretched and glanced around at her own humble digs. Jane was spending so much time at Charles' loft that Elizabeth thought she was starting to detect distaste in her ever-tactful sister's expression whenever she returned home to their tiny place.

She hated the beige walls. _I should paint it. Red, maybe._ Elizabeth could see the entire 800 . space just by turning her head from side to side. _It had every amenity necessary to big-city living, right? Clawfoot tub in the kitchen? Check. Scratched red linoleum countertops? Check. Oversized closet doubling as a second bedroom? Check. Out-of-season clothes shoved in airtight boxes under the bed? Check. Two deadbolts, one slider lock? Check._

_Click._ The bolt slid back and there was Jane. Elizabeth looked up as her sister walked in the door. And there was the "look" that ever so briefly crossed Jane's face when she returned home to reality.

"Hey Janey, have fun?"

Her beautiful, willowy sister nodded and sank into the couch. "We ice-skated in Central Park. Since we won't be together on Christmas, Charles wanted to make sure we did it." Jane leaned over and rubbed her ankles. "I always forget how much it hurts. But he loves it."

Her sister was eyeing her, an amused quirk to her eyebrow. "You did it? You must be out of practice. What part hurts?"

Jane's mouth fell open. "Elizabeth Taylor Bennet! Shut up!" She grabbed a pillow and thumped her sister in the stomach.

Elizabeth's giggle just grew louder. "Jane," she gasped, "you so set yourself up for that one." She smoothed back her thick brown hair into a ponytail and tilted her head toward her sister. "Not that either of us kiss and tell, but you have spent nearly every night at his place for the past two weeks.

"It's 8 o'clock on a Thursday night," Elizabeth continued. "And you are here. Are you homesick for your lumpy bed here, missing me, or is Charlie busy tonight?" She fluttered her eyelashes.

Jane smirked right back at her. "Yes, no and kind of. He has a big meeting early tomorrow morning, I have a 7:30 appointment with Mr. Elliot, and…Aunt Flo has arrived for a short visit." Jane stood up and headed for the kitchen. "Where's the chocolate stash?"

"Behind the flour." Elizabeth stretched out on the couch. "Geez Jane, you seriously have to work on Mr. Whiny Elliot at that hour? Ugh."

After another bowl of popcorn and a quick rundown on which gifts were purchased and who was going to the Patagonia store on Columbus Avenue for Mary's present, the conversation turned to Game Night, the last evening the sisters had spent together with Charles.

"Jane. That apartment was amazing. Sixteen rooms? Did you see that staircase? I Googled it. That building is listed as one of the greatest residential entertaining spaces in the entire city!"

Her sister nodded. "Imagine having your debutante ball there."

Elizabeth took a breath and scoffed. "Georgie is a nice girl. She could have some serious parties in that place. Think her brother did when he was her age?"

She didn't wait for an answer. "He's what, nearly 30? Does he live there too or is he just staying with his sister while their parents abroad or something?"

"No," Jane said. "I don't know the whole story, but their father died around six, seven years ago."

Elizabeth felt like an idiot as she remembered all the headlines she had seen about the Darcy family's investment bank. "Of course, that's why Will runs Pemberley Funds. What about their mother?"

"Um, Will was 12 when his mother died." Jane looked sad and twisted a strand of her long strawberry blonde hair. "Charles told me, he wanted me to know before we went over there for the games."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. _Twelve? And Georgie was a baby?_ She couldn't think let alone respond to what Jane said. She took a long sip of apple cider. She and Jane might live cheek by jowl in their Village walk-up, but they were used to close quarters after sharing space with their sisters, their parents, and the menagerie of stray cats and dogs that Katie was always harboring on the screen porch. Her mother fed another bunch of feral cats that gathered every morning behind the card and gift shop she ran near their neighborhood in Meryton. It was a good thing the Philadelphia suburbs had lax laws on feeding strays.

"It was a nice night, Lizzy, wasn't it?" Jane ventured. "I love Trivial Pursuit. Too bad I'm terrible at most of the categories."

"Not true," Elizabeth admonished. "You rock at all the pop culture and sports stuff." She took a breath. "Louisa seemed nice, and Marty is hilarious. He and Charles make a good tag-team on Caroline."

She glanced at Jane, who was smiling guiltily. "What is the story with Mademoiselle Fromage?"

"Lizzy, you are so bad!" She stifled a giggle. "But so good with nicknames. Did you minor in that?"

Her sister shifted on the couch and waited.

"Okay," Jane began. "You know that Charles and his sisters grew up in New Jersey, right? Apparently, Caroline doesn't like anyone to know that. She has this whole concept of herself in a Vanity Fair spread, as a Fifth Avenue society dame."

Elizabeth snorted. "More like a real housewife."

"Lizzy," Jane warned. "Don't put that image in my head! She's Charles' sister. I have to get along with her."

"But you know I'm right." Elizabeth paused. "Have you told Charles about our family? Granddad and the mines?"

Jane nodded. "Just a little."

_Well, Caroline will be so pleased to know we have coal in our veins, _Elizabeth thought. "If they grew up in Jersey, how do they know the Darcys so well?"

"He met Will at prep school. Charles is a year younger— "

"Right, he's 28, like you?"

"Yes. His birthday was in September. Will's is in October. So they have one month where they're the same age."

Elizabeth plumped a pillow and rested her head on it. Jane's math skills always amused her. "Well, kinda. It's weird they're such good friends, though. Charles is so goofy and happy-go-lucky and Will is all quiet and broody."  
_  
A cheerleader and an emo number-cruncher,_ she thought. "An ad man and a mad man."

Jane eyed her sister thoughtfully and took a sip of cranberry juice. "Well, I wouldn't call Will mad, Lizzy. He's not angry or crazy. He just has a lot on his plate and he's very serious."

"That's a banker for you. All work and no play—unless it's pricey and maybe illegal."

Jane sighed heavily and leveled a serious look at her sister. "Not every guy on Wall Street is a jerk or a crook, Lizzy." She shifted on the sofa. "He's not only raised Georgie, but he's been dealing with all her PT and recuperation. She was nice, wasn't she?"

Elizabeth nodded and listened to the details of Darcy's worried questioning about his sister's physical therapy.

_So he's always with his sister. Maybe that's why he doesn't have a girlfriend. Or is he not so interested in women? _She thought hard and tried to recall if her gaydar had been activated at any time around him. Nothing came to mind.

"So," Elizabeth said as Jane's one-sided musings about bones and joints trailed off. "Are you guys going to double-date with him?"

The question hung in the air while Jane processed the change of topic. "I don't know. Charles hasn't mentioned it. But it would be fun, wouldn't it?" She raised her eyebrows and smiled at Elizabeth. "Interested? It's been a long time for you. Ben's been gone a while."

Elizabeth felt a quick flash of annoyance. _Ben, the future king of American literature_. She hadn't spoken to him, and had barely spoken about him, since they had broken up three months earlier. Six months of fairly good companionship and a shared passion for museums and gritty `70s movies had crumbled when he had told her he was moving to northern California to take over his aunt's vineyard. She was already frustrated by his lackadaisical attitude to finishing his novel and his indifferent approach toward his day job at Lucas Bros. Gallery. Ben hadn't seemed too disappointed with her reaction. He had left two weeks later. A college girlfriend had joined him in Sonoma within a month or so. Two days after Elizabeth had heard that news, she had blocked him on her little-used Facebook page and deleted his number from her cell phone.

Now, a handful of coffee dates and half a dozen dinners later, she still hadn't met anyone who piqued her interest. It seemed to her that the city was full of 30-year-old man-boys waiting tables or working in real estate or the financial sector. In the Village, they all wanted to raze everything she loved in the gritty neighborhood. It was hard to see landmarks like CBGBs disappear. Even though she was too young to have ever set foot in the place, its musical history deserved more than a well-chronicled demolition. The piece of plywood flooring she'd scavenged from a Dumpster and framed for her father held a place of honor in his office at Meryton High School. He thought it gave him a cachet of cool as a guidance counselor, but the dirty old board seemed to confuse most of the students who visited him.

"You know what, Janey? I think I'd rather focus on work for a while. Trying to meet someone never works. I'm sure some dashing man will drop in my lap when I least expect it."

***

A beer was the only thing likely to drop in her lap the next evening at the Haven Hospital staff party. _Sweater Boy._ The thought of him dripping in that sweater floated through her mind, and she immediately quashed the thought. Elizabeth looked around at the drunken revelry. _Good thing I like these people when they're sober._ It was Friday night and the "Havenites" had gathered at the Ramsgate Bar for their holiday party. Or, as the non-PC types called it, "The Santa Rave."

As it did every year, the white-elephant gift exchange spurred raucous laughter. Looks of disgust, horror and hilarity crossed the faces of the Haven staff as the paper was ripped off lobster-shaped oven mitts; a plastic tiara sporting the phrase "Kiss Me! I'm 64!" and playing a tinny rendition of the Beatles tune; a pair of green polka-dotted long-johns; and a complete set of 1996-era Spice Girls perfumes.

Elizabeth felt fortunate to have escaped with a chef's apron emblazoned head-to-toe with Michelangelo's David, in all of his resplendent, naked glory. Now she was sitting alone in a booth, nursing a beer she didn't want and trying to figure out to whom she could re-gift the apron. She pulled out her phone and stared at the contact list looking for ideas.

"Whatcha doin' all by your lonesome over here in the corner, Elizabeth?"

She looked up at Mary King's smiling face. Mary and George Wickham slid into the seats across from her. George had his arm slung over Mary's shoulder and was playing with her candy cane earrings. _George was quite tactile,_ thought Elizabeth. She'd watched them on the dance floor earlier and his hands rarely left Mary's hips or back. Or he was possessive. _Or maybe the sex was just that hot._

"Hey guys," she said. "Having fun?" Holiday cheer was always a bit easier to come by when she had ingested two beers. She tucked away her phone in her purse.

Mary laughed and reached across the table to where the apron lay folded. She rang a finger along the fabric and leveled a serious look at Elizabeth. "This is hilarious. And you still have time to wear it for your holiday baking."

George guffawed. "Might be fun for your boyfriend to try on…."

"Sssssh!" cried a shrill voice. "Lizbeth doesn't have a boyfriend. Dumped, de-de-dumped-dumped!"

Lydia Morrissey set down a tray of festive red and green Jello vodka shots. She slid into the booth next to Elizabeth, bumping her almost to the wall. "Help yourself, guys!"

It took a deep breath and slow count to five before Elizabeth opened her eyes. _Lydia._That girl had no place working in a hospital housing sick people, pharmaceuticals and highly detailed, highly confidential paperwork. But Lydia, through the grace of an online medical assistant degree and an uncle on the hospital board, had solidified her position as the sixth-floor's quickest transcriber and fastest talker. As Elizabeth saw the glances exchanged between Lydia and George, she had the uncomfortable feeling they spent a lot of time talking at work. Or more.

George leaned closer and grabbed two shot glasses. "So that Darcy thing in the papers was really just a coincidence? You don't really know him?"

Mary squeezed his hand. "Yes she does! Her sister is dating his best friend." She bent her head back and swallowed the shot George held over her mouth.

"Ah…so double-dating is not unlikely," George said, giving Elizabeth a slow, lazy smile. He stuck out his tongue and licked his shot out of the plastic cup. Lydia's eyes bulged. Elizabeth's stomach turned. She glanced at her watch and nudged her hip against Lydia's.

"Hey, scoot over, Lydia. It's time for me to go."

"Oh come on, Elizabeth. The party is just getting started!" Mary cried.

Elizabeth stifled her first response and smiled. "I know. But I have to shop, pack and wrap tomorrow. We leave Sunday morning."

"But I haven't gotten a dance with you," George whined.

Lydia jumped up. "Dance with me, George!"

The two headed off.

Mary spoke up. "Wait, Elizabeth, before you go?"

Elizabeth sat back down and waited. Mary looked quite serious, or as serious as one can be after three hours of drinking and dancing.

"I wanted to talk to you, Elizabeth," she said solemnly. "Be careful with that Darcy guy. He's a player. George told me all about the stuff the papers have covered up for him."

Her heart thudded. Elizabeth leaned forward and asked quietly, "What kind of stuff? All I know is his girlfriend cheated on him and took some cheap shots at his um, bedroom technique."

Mary was shaking her head back and forth. "Oh no. She's just the only one who ever talked to the press. Everybody else has been paid off. He's really rich, you know? And hot. There's been a lot of women." She nodded. "A lot."

Elizabeth waved her hands at Mary. "What? What do you mean paid off? For what?"

"Oh sweetie. He can't get it up, he likes weird stuff. I don't know all the details." Mary shrugged her shoulder and reached for another Jello shot. "George told me he's a creep. Their families go way back, and he knows a couple of the women."

It was all Elizabeth could do to say goodbye politely and weave her way through the crowded bar and out the door to hail a cab.

She tossed and turned most of the night and woke up Saturday morning feeling ill-humored and overwhelmed by the last few items on her holiday to-do list.

By early afternoon, she was at her last stop. She walked into Patagonia and crashed straight into a wiry man carrying a pair of snowshoes.

Notes:

CBGB (Country, BlueGrass, and Blues) was a music club at in New York City's Bowery section. It was founded in 1973, and became a forum for American punk and New Wave bands like Ramones, Misfits, Television, the Patti Smith Group, Mink DeVille, The Dead Boys, The Dictators, The Fleshtones, The Voidoids, The Cramps, Blondie, and Talking Heads. It closed in 2006.

Cool Hand Luke is a classic, allegorical 1967 film about a nonconformist who refuses to adapt to life in a rural Florida prison camp in the early 1960s. Paul Newman is amazing in it, but the best-known line is by the Captain, played by the silkily cruel Strother Martin: "What we have here is a failure to communicate."

Jello shots: Just what they sound like: slimy, wiggly and meant to slide down your throat and enhance intoxication.

White elephant gift exchange: A used-gift exchange of unwanted, often truly awful household items and apparel. Often held as an ice-breaker at holiday coffees and teas. I have gone home with items including a pink and green fish-shaped casserole dish, a needlepoint portrait of Neil Diamond, rubber Spock ears and a set of polka-dotted dessert plates. (I kept the plates.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"_Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine_."

Elizabeth looked around her parents' living room. Though seemingly half-asleep, her father was mouthing the dialogue mumbled by a drunken Humphrey Bogart. She'd seen "Casablanca" so many times, and her stomach was so full of green-bean casserole, leftover roast beef, and banana cream pie that she could barely move, let alone focus on the screen. No matter how much walking or cross-country skiing she had managed to fit in, three days at home had left her feeling like a mindless blob.

She had the same feeling as Bogart. How, in a city as big and populated as New York, had she managed to crash into somebody who worked at Darcy's bank?

According to the business card he handed her, the man behind the snowshoes was Robert Fitzwilliam, Senior Investment Analyst, Pemberley Funds. He had expressed bemused shock over her tumble at Patagonia and made a fuss over her spilled Barnes & Noble bag. Unfortunately, Mr. Nosy Pants also had chuckled at the titles he picked up from the floor.

"Manga? A graphic novel?"

"My sister."

He had said nothing, but had raised his eyebrows when he glimpsed the words "Fifty Shades"… and "Full Service: My Adventures in Hollywood" on the other scattered books. "Oh my."

She had raised one eyebrow and stared at him. "My aunt and my mother."

Slightly abashed but still grinning, he had taken a step toward the counter, and bought Elizabeth an earth-friendly canvas Patagonia shopping bag for her book purchases. He'd wanted to buy her a drink too, but he had gracefully accepted her demurrals and pressed his card in her hand. "Call me. Or text. Whenever you're back, but soon."

_Not a chance_. He was cute, but in a taut, almost military way. And he was way too forward in his flirtiness. He reminded her a bit of Charles, with less charm though with the same breezy banter. _Sure didn't seem like a typical buttoned-down banker. Maybe he loosened up around the holidays._ He was way too cheery for her, but she thought she might hold onto his card in case anything happened to Jane and Charles. He might be a good rebound guy for her sister. _Not that there seemed like there was any danger of needing it._

"I wish Charles was here. He loves this movie," Jane sighed.

Elizabeth glanced at her sister, so beloved yet so annoyingly schizophrenic over the long holiday. If she wasn't mooning over missing her boyfriend, she was manic when he called. Quite often, she was taking full advantage of the chance to cook in a large kitchen with more than four feet of counter space, and buzzed about overseeing cookie- and gravy-making.

Katie had abdicated all meat-related responsibilities since announcing after Thanksgiving dinner that she had become a vegetarian. Or maybe a vegan. Now, a month later, she still hadn't worked it out. So Elizabeth had made her peel extra potatoes and carrots, and throw in another sheet of crescent rolls; if her youngest sister wasn't going to eat roast beef, she would have to supplement with vegetables and starches.

"Mary Kay Bennet, you will be the death of me!" Mrs. Bennet's voice cut through the darkened, sleepy living room. "Thomas, remind your daughter that a mud room is for snow and ice and everything else she drags in on those hideous hiking boots."

Elizabeth watched her muscular, GoreTex-clad sister stride in the room. Mary didn't take shit from anyone and kept her visits home from grad school to a minimum. "Hey mom, it's a screen porch, not a mud room. And it's filled with so much of Katie's petting zoo that the slush I drag in really shouldn't be an issue."

"Leave your sister out of this, she's doing God's work," her mother retorted.

_Says the twice-a-year churchgoer_, Elizabeth mused, biting back a snort.

The room fell silent when Tom Bennet hit the pause button. "I believe you are referring to the work of Saint Francis of Assisi, my dear. Now," he continued, leveling an even stare at his wife, "how about we see if we can get through this classic tale of an alien invasion and how it thwarts true love's arrow, shall we?"

"Dad, we're watching 'Casablanca,'" Jane mumbled.

He clicked the play button, prompting his wife to stalk off. "Katharine Ross Bennet! There is dog poop on the porch floor! Get the scooper!"

The next two days proceeded at the usual pace. Mrs. Bennet was happy her eldest daughter was home and carrying with her the blush of love. She had but one worry. "Jane, you won't hyphenate, will you? It's just such a mouthful and you have such a beautiful name."

The four Bennet girls all had looked at one another and rolled their eyes. _Jane Seymour Bennet-Bingley sounds awfully cool to me_, Elizabeth thought.

"Lizzy, you have to come!" Jane stood in the bedroom, her arms crossed and her voice that potent combination of whining, cajoling and seriousness that usually won an argument. She was not about to let her little sister off the hook on New Year's Eve.

Elizabeth, sitting in the middle of the bed, necklaces and bracelets strewn about her, kept her head bent. "Janey, I promised to work the hotline. You know how tough the holidays are for people, and New Year's Eve is the worst."

Silence. And then Elizabeth heard it, the soft but insistent tapping of her sister's slipper-clad foot. She looked up.

"Lizzy, you'll say the exact same thing on Valentine's Day. And Mother's Day," Jane chided. "I know you want to help, but you don't need to be there all night.

"Come for a few hours, then go help."

Elizabeth's eyes swept over her sister, resplendent in a sparkly, deep green dress. She held out her hand. "Here, wear the onyx earrings and necklace. A bit of drama."

"You are my drama, Elizabeth Bennet. Now get off that bed and get dressed. I know for a fact that you signed up for the 11 till 3 a.m. shift." Jane took the jewelry and turned to the mirror. "I do read the kitchen calendar, you know. Now go pull out that silvery dress. I'll find you some jewelry."

Sigh. _At least she didn't start in on… _

"You'll never meet anyone if you burrow away in your office all the time. All your patients did fine while we were gone."

_Unlike your Mr. Elliot…._ Jane had had a slew of voicemails from her thrice-weekly patient while they had been in Meryton, disgruntled by her absence and the imposition of a fill-in physical therapist.

As it turned out, sprucing herself up to rub elbows with a bunch of equally stylish New Yorkers was a pretty good idea. Elizabeth was finding amusement everywhere she looked in Charles' loft, which was as fabulous and whimsical as the man himself. The walls were covered with vintage movie posters and old commercial advertising art. Tin toys perched on tables below sparkly festive lights. The furniture was leather and chrome. The food was plentiful, the drinks were flowing, and although Elizabeth limited herself to only one cup of Charles' bubbly festive punch, she was having a good time without the need for bottled spirits. _So much the better to see how the other half lives, _she thought. _And they lived pretty well_.

She found herself in conversation with a couple of good-looking men, but Paul, the sports agent, exuded an overload of smarminess, and Mark, the account executive, talked a little too fast and made pop culture references she didn't recognize. _Seriously, `80s sitcom lunchboxes? I wish Charlotte was here to do running commentary._ Elizabeth had declined an invitation to the celebration her best friend was planning with Willa and a big crowd in Tribeca, citing the traffic logistics of getting to the hotline center in Columbus Circle. Partying at Charles' Upper West Side loft wouldn't require traversing the nightmare that was Times Square on New Year's Eve.

Now, the last of her foamy drink still in hand and free of chatty men and fetching women in tiny dresses, she was studying the titles of Charles' vast DVD collection. The slim bookcases were nearly full.

"You know," said a quiet, deep voice behind her. "they're obsolete. Charles has Hulu, Netflix and Apple TV. I bet he'd give you a good deal if you want to buy any titles."

Elizabeth whirled to her left, spilling a bit of her punch. _Sweater Boy wears sweater vests too? Seriously?_

"Hello," she said in response to his unusual greeting. A small smile emerged and erased Darcy's standard brooding mien.

"What makes you think _I _still have a DVD player?" Elizabeth asked.

William Darcy stood before her, his mouth moving but no words coming out. He held a drink in one hand while the other was performing some kind of torturous origami on a napkin.

"Are we playing charades? I'll go with `Finding Nemo,'" Elizabeth said.

Darcy glanced at the wall of DVDs and then back to her. He smiled sheepishly. "Georgie's right. I'd never make it at stand-up."

Elizabeth eyed him, her eyes drawn to a wet spot on his vest. _Crap! Is that foam? My drink! I splashed his freaking sweater._

"Well, if you want, Jane could probably check to see if you have a functioning funny bone." _OK, walk away. He'll never know I did it._

His smile grew wider. "Ah, right. Did she discover her talents in physical therapy through her success in playing Operation?"

"Maybe. Did you figure out your talents in banking by playing Connect Four?"

The sheepish smile returned. "Sure, if banking was just stacking money in even rows." His eyes grew serious. "But there's a lot more involved."

"Ah, big and important stuff?" _Insufferable man. _

Darcy nodded solemnly. "Stuff."

"Ah, now that's a serious banker word." _Shut up and clean his sweater._

Nodding quickly, Elizabeth set down her glass, reached out and pulled the napkin out of his hand. She unfolded it and began dabbing the foam off the vest. _Geez, how big is his sweater budget? I bet Caroline would have licked it off._ She avoided looking at him as she made her apologies.

"Elizabeth, it's okay. It's just a little bit. I hadn't noticed."

She looked up at him. "It's cashmere. But I think I can save it." She felt like an idiot and took a step back.

"So, Charles has a great place here. It's really different from yours. Young and fun." She cringed. _Make that a really big idiot. Now I insult him?_

Darcy nodded and swept his eyes around the big, open space. "True. It's very him, a perfect bachelor pad. I like hanging out here."

He turned back to gaze at her. _He has the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen. They're almost black._ Elizabeth leaned her shoulder against the bookcase. "Well, your place is spectacular. And you have books," she added, gesturing at the DVDs. "And those never go out of style."

"Or become obsolete," he replied.

They spent the next few minutes discussing the _New York Times' _annual best books list. She expressed surprised to learn how many books he had read in the past year.

"Not so much the last month or two," Darcy replied. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a pen and began clicking the end as he spoke. _Click_. "But when Georgie…when she was in the hospital last spring and then came home and couldn't go out easily, we both read a lot. Caught up on movies." _Click._

"She couldn't go back to school?"

He shook his head. _Click._ "She had a home tutor. Her school is very much a vertical New York building. Staircases and rather small elevators that don't reach every floor." _Click._

"No ramps?"

"Not then." _Click_. "There are now."

Elizabeth was on the verge of either grabbing away the damn pen or asking for the details of that enigmatic answer when she felt her phone buzzing.

"Excuse me a second." She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. _Can you get here ASAP? One of the volunteers showed up drunk and another one is late._

She texted back a confirmation and looked up. "Sorry. I have to go."

He looked confused, maybe a little disappointed. "Another party to go to?"

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "Yeah, something like that. I have to go change and find a cab to Columbus Circle." She began to walk past him. "Jane put my bag in Charles' bedroom. Do you know where it is?"

He led her down a short hallway to a gray and black bedroom. She combed through the coats on the bed and found her bag and jacket. Her eyes alit on the brightest thing in the room. "Charles has a Rietveld chair?"

She looked at him closely. "Did you make that one too?"

Darcy nodded. _Was he blushing?_

"He wouldn't stop talking about mine, so he came out to my workshop and we made this one together. Georgie painted it." His eyes were boring through her. "We finished it just before Christmas."

"You have a workshop in your apartment? I know it's big, but…."

"Er, no. At my, at our house."

_Which is somewhere else, some sprawling estate. Okaaay._

Much to her relief, the bathroom door opened and a sloppily drunken man wandered out. "Darcy! Talk to me, man! The Fed has gone bonkers. What the hell is going on with interest rates?"

_Ha! Stuff! _

Elizabeth slipped into the bathroom, relieved to escape her visit to Money World. She and her sisters had never gone hungry or wanted for anything they needed, but they never had everything they desired, either. No $39 Barbie cars for their dolls, or $400 Barbie jeeps for them. No Sweet 16 parties or new cars. But they were comfortable. It was when they had left the family home that financial reality has kicked in and tuition payments and student loans and work-study programs had become the hub of their educational wheel. Investment banking had made sense then; she was good at math and making money as a byproduct of her skill with numbers had seemed like a great idea. She had earned herself a scholarship or two and had risen quickly to the top of her class, earning the esteem of her professors and the eye of Wall Street recruiters. Tonight, that constant refrain kicked in again. _What was I thinking?_

She heard the men's voices fade away and some high-pitched chatter begin.

"Caroline, who was that woman with William?"

Elizabeth froze. She pulled her turtleneck down over her head and thrust her arms through the sleeves. And she waited.

"Oh my god, you saw her?" Though she'd spent only one other evening with Caroline, those affected nasally tones were unmistakable.

"She's just some tattooed hospice worker stalking him."

_You bloody bitch!_

There was a gasp, then a giggle from the unknown partygoer. "That man just can't get a break, can he?"

Enraged, Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath. She buttoned her jeans, shoved her feet into her Uggs, and picked up her bag.

The doorknob rattled. "Hurry up in there! We have an emergency!"

Elizabeth yanked the door open and glared at a garishly clad Caroline and her friend. _Aquamarine and liquid gold spandex?_ "Really, Caroline? An emergency? I don't think this `hospice worker' can help you with that fashion disaster." She stalked past the shocked women and turned around. "By the way, Caro, I'm so glad your brother and my sister are dating."

Slamming the bedroom door behind her, Elizabeth turned and bumped into a startled Will Darcy. "Did you hear that?" she demanded.

He nodded, grimacing. "She-, Caroline has never been good at—."

"Sharing? Competing? Running with scissors?" She paused and took a breath. "Sorry, I have to go."

"Wait. My car is here, I'll take you."

"Really? But it's only 10. On New Year's Eve."

"Trust me, I've had enough." He looked at her and saw the hesitation in her eyes. "You'll never get a cab. Everybody is heading to Times Square."

She started to protest. _Being in a car with him on New Year's Eve was a bad idea._

"All right." Wrinkling her forehead, she gazed up at him. "But, if we're seen…Are you worried about gossip? Or paparazzi?"

His eyes flashed and then narrowed. He put his hand on her arm. "No one here is going to talk. I'll leave now. You say your goodbyes. I'll be in the blue Mercedes at the front entrance."

Twenty minutes later she walked through the front doors at the Columbus Circle Samaritan Center. _Of course. Of course, his car has a driver who drives it. So we can sit in the back seat and look out the windows and say nothing. Well, he did check to make sure I had a ride home later._

She couldn't figure him out. _He's hot and cold. I hear he's a cold fish, then I hear he's hot and creepy._

She sighed and punched the elevator button.

_I need to talk to Jane. And Charlotte._

As she walked into the solemn but busy call room, she glanced at the clock. _Ten-thirty_. She hadn't asked if he was heading home or somewhere else. _Not all of us get a kiss at midnight. But with him, you never know._

William Darcy was too methodical to lose things. Every board game in his apartment had all its parts, every sock was paired with its mate, every book was on the shelf in alphabetical order by author's last name. Not everyone was so careful. He looked at the red leather pump on the coffee table. He'd found it on the floormat of his car when he got home an hour earlier. _Three-inch heels. How do women walk in those things?_

Sinking back into the leather sofa, Will leaned his head back and rested a glass of scotch on his knee. His mind drifted back over the past few hours. How did he get to this point? A week of holiday activities with their small family, including a very long three days with his Aunt Catherine, Anne, Robin and the Fitzwilliams in Connecticut, and a 20-minute conversation and a short car ride with Elizabeth Bennet was all he could think about.

Christmas morning had been fun. The "Fifty Shades of Gray" trilogy his Aunt Catherine had received from "Santa" prompted furious embarrassment from the spindly 60-something; after she and the book had both vacated the room, Robin had told the rest of the family that he was inspired to buy it after he had bumped into a hottie who'd bought it "for her aunt." He cocked an eyebrow and leered at Will. "Or so she said…."

They'd gone snowshoeing and sledding. He and Robin played a little hockey on the pond. His uncle beat them all at poker. And the high point of the holiday season, aside from all the laughter he heard from Georgie, was 20 minutes spent talking about books with a woman who made fun of him? No. The high point was talking to a beautiful woman who looked amazing in a silvery black dress and who cleaned off his sweater. _What was it with her and his sweaters? He smiled. Cashmere Girl._

_Kashmir._ He leaned over and picked up the remote control for his iPod speakers. The heavy strains of Led Zeppelin soon pulsed through the room. _I need to take her the shoe. When was she getting off duty? She had said she didn't need a ride. Seemed like she had someone picking her up._

Darcy rubbed his eyes and yawned. He had been glad to find out she wasn't heading to another New Year's Eve party. Ruefully, he realized he was caring a little more about the welfare of Charles' girlfriend's sister than he should be. She thought he had a stupid job, and probably thought he was a stuffed shirt, but she wasn't hostile to him anymore. Not like that first night. Or the second. _Hmmm, they didn't play well together in restaurants, but they seemed okay other places. If a couple of nice smiles counted._ He'd wanted to hold her wrist tonight and look closely at her tattoo; it wasn't like one he'd ever seen before. It was delicate, almost beautiful. When their friend said they all had the tattoo, but some of them had more, did she mean Elizabeth? Or Jane? He could ask Charles. _No, bad idea._

It felt liberating to crank up music and enjoy the solitude. Georgie was with Anne and some friends at the DeBourgh's Palm Beach spread. It was the first real trip she'd taken since the accident, and from her earlier call, the plane ride had gone just fine. By April, she'd be ready for the eight-hour flight to Hawaii, and maybe even the surfing lessons Robin had promised. A spring break trip would be a great way to celebrate the arrival of all those anticipated college acceptance letters and mull her decision. Georgie hadn't applied for early decision at her dream schools; she wanted to include her fall transcripts now that she was back in school full-time. He didn't even know the names of her dream schools. "Outside of the city," was her cryptic description of those mysterious institutions.

_Women are so secretive._ Darcy looked at Elizabeth's shoe. _Her feet are so small. I have to get it to her._ He closed his eyes and slipped into sleep.

When he woke in the wee hours, the shoe was on the floor. Blearily, he looked at his watch. Three a.m. He got up and stumbled down the hall to his bedroom.

New Year's Day dawned brightly. Darcy woke up late, at 9. Coffee sounded really good, so he readied the machine and checked his phone for messages. He'd half expected one from Elizabeth about her shoe, until he realized they had never exchanged numbers. There was one from Charles, hollering Happy New Year and expressing regret Darcy had left early. "Lizzy left too? Were you with her? Me and Jane are going skating today! I love her, Darce…"

He rolled his eyes. He started to text Charles to get Elizabeth's number, but decided to leave his message to a terse, _"Have fun, call if you can"_. Charles was notorious for misplacing things, and from previous experience, Will knew Caroline might be checking his calls and messages.

After coffee and a granola bar, he got ready for a run around the Central Park reservoir. The crisp air pushed thoughts of the previous night out of his head and kept his mind focused on the path ahead.

A couple of hours later, Robin arrived with six-packs of Grolsch and Stella Artois beer and a hearty appetite for whatever dishes Mrs. Reynolds had prepared for the two men.

Robin filled him in on his morning conversation with Georgie. "I woke them up! Can you believe it? Those giddy girls were still in bed at 11 a.m.!"

Images of Georgie's best angry face cross his mind, and Darcy shook his head in mild admonishment. His cousin, two inches shorter and never holding still, looked past him at the kitchen table. "That doesn't look like food. Are you working?"

Darcy quickly strode over to the table and folded up his paperwork. He was relieved he'd put Elizabeth's shoe in his briefcase, where it was safe from his cousin's radar.

"Blueprints? Another chair? Some mystery gift for Georgie?"

Darcy smiled. "Something like that."

"Damnedest hobby. You need to find something else to do with your hands." Robin rolled his eyes and pulled open the refrigerator doors. "So what do we have here? White chicken chili…beef tamale casserole…pulled pork…? Damn. Get that in the crockpot." He pulled out the plastic container and whirled around. "You do have a crockpot, right?"

As the food simmered, they watched the first football game of the day and Robin chattered on about his upcoming climbing trip to Malta. Will's mindset was more work-focused. Other than Christmas day itself, over the holiday week, he'd spent at least two or three hours a day on the phone to Zurich and London, looking over due diligence files on pending mergers deals, and comparing profit and loss statements. A couple of the proposed deals concerned him.

"I want to talk to you tomorrow about Delteon," he told Robin. "I have some questions and some numbers I need to clarify. How many copper mines can one battery conglomerate buy?"

Robin launched into an arcane and detailed explanation of the deal, which ended only when Darcy raised his hand and begged for a reprieve until they could meet in the office in the next day.

It wasn't until both men were on a second plate of food and a second (or third) beer that Robin asked his low-key cousin about his New Year's Eve. "I heard from Georgie that you were home early. What's up?"

Will told him about the evening, which led to more questions and gradually—and not quite unwillingly—he related the entire tale of Elizabeth Bennet and how he had met her.

"This is the girl, the one that the papers caught you with in November?"

"Yes."

"You like this girl. Buy her dinner. Take her home. Let off some steam."

A coughing fit halted Darcy's response.

"Take a drink, Darce. And don't get all bent of shape. It's been a long time for you."

_There are five tines on a fork,_ Will noticed. _When did someone decide five instead of six? Did they test for stabbing strength or mouth-fit?_

"Earth to Darcy."

He looked up and stared at the TV screen. _God, I hate the Cowboys. C'mon Jets. _

"It's not like that," he replied. "She's Charles girlfriend's sister and it's pretty complicated." Darcy looked back down at his fork.

"But you like her. She might like you." Robin lowered his voice, speaking in a serious tone. "Will, does she know about you? About that, that woman? All the shit that was published?"

His eyes closed. He didn't want to think about this, let alone talk about it. "Um, some of it, probably. I don't know." _Like that's a conversation I'm likely to start._

"Well, she doesn't sound like the kind of woman to read tabloids or watch TMZ or that crap. But after that picture of the two of you on Page Six of the Post? You might want to talk to her about it."

_I __know__ I need to talk to her._ Stifling a rueful chuckle, Will commented, "Good to know that it only takes three beers for my allergic-to-commitment cousin to turn into a therapist.

"And just so you know, I apologized for being a jerk at that dinner," he added.

Strangely intuitive to his cousin's discomfort, Robin pulled another beer out of the ice bucket, popped the top and handed it to his cousin. "Hey, thanks to Bingley and her sister, you're already spending time together…. Something will happen." He grabbed another beer for himself. "And if she knows about the crap you went through, she'll feel sympathetic. You might get lucky."

The roar from the TV drew their attention. "Dammit, seriously? Another interception?" Robin yelled. "I hate the goddam Cowboys."

"A pity fuck? Crap, Robin. How pathetic do you think I am?"

"Chill out, Darce. Think about it." Robin pointed his bottle at Will. "Your life is straight out of Dickens. Rich orphan raising his sister, building his own furniture, failing at relationships and getting screwed over by his girlfriend, and denigrated in the press."

Robin paused and smiled impishly at his stunned cousin. "Yup, sounds like perfect fodder for a social worker to fix up into the perfect boyfriend."

_God, I am that pathetic._

"Don't worry, Darce." Robin tapped his half-empty bottle against his cousin's nearly full one. "I have great expectations for you."

After Jane's return home-again with sore ankles-from ice skating with Charles at Rockefeller Center, the sisters snuggled on the couch. A veritable feast of finger foods sat before them, the plates slowly emptying over the hours as they clicked away the first day of the year. It was "marathon day" on every channel.

Elizabeth successfully fought off Jane's insistence on watching a third episode of "Sex in the City," but had to cede to her pleading and sit through a Tori Spelling movie on Lifetime.

When it ended—and Elizabeth was a bit embarrassed to admit that some trash was fun—she got up to clear a few plates and use the bathroom. "Jane, don't touch that remote! It's my pick! I'll be right back!"

"I'm just playing while you're gone, Lizzy."

When she emerged from the bathroom, she heard a familiar announcer's voice. "Next on our countdown of New York's Top Sex Scandals of the year, it's Number 7: Socialite Cheats on Hot Banker and Tells All!" By the time Elizabeth walked into the living room. Jane had turned down the volume and was watching the story unfold, a look of horrified disgust on her face. Elizabeth quietly walked over and sat down next to her. "…and he was just a big stiff. Always on his computer, probably watching porn because he never wanted the real thing."

Elizabeth grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. She didn't move, just bit her lip and stared at the black screen.

Jane sank into the sofa, a trembling sigh emerging before she blurted out, "Fucking vultures."

Elizabeth's head spun around. "Jane?" _Jane never used the F word._

"His girlfriend cheats on him and then she goes out and spreads these lies and everybody talks about him and laughs about it."

Jane turned to face Elizabeth. She looked like she might cry. "Do you know why PTs and doctors and dentists and hairdressers put out all those gossip rags and tabloids? Because people relate to that crap about movie stars and reality bozos. We can make small talk about it."

All Elizabeth could picture was Darcy smiling at his sister, or insisting he'd drive her to the call center, or staring at her while she climbed out of his car.

"Your patients _talk_ about him?"

Jane, the strawberry-blonde vision of all that sweet and light, gave Elizabeth a piercing look. "Of course. He's Mr. Wall Street. All the better to tear down the one-percenters and make fun of them."

Elizabeth blanched. "The rich aren't like you and me," she whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

_I've neglected to reply to any comments, but I so appreciate hearing from you all. Someone asked about the oddity of a bathtub in an apartment kitchen, but I can assure you that some of NYC's old tenement buildings do indeed have clawfoot tubs in the kitchen. At least my place in the Village did, back in the `80s! Of course, the NYC where D&E live is a much different place today._

**Chapter 8**

_Lumberjack? Animal wrangler? Marine biologist? Ski bum. That would do it. Days outside, no schedules, no endless meetings about which numbers don't match up and why next week's stock price was going to adversely affect the second quarter's debt ratings._ Darcy leaned back in his chair and looked around the conference table. _Would this meeting never end?_ He knew he had been right to question Robin about Delteon, but even he hadn't foreseen the upheaval he created by noting a few numbers buried in a paragraph on page 306 of a secondary due-diligence report. He picked up his pen, clenched it, and refocused on Ken Whitley's blistering rebuttal to Chris Brandon's presentation.

Half an hour later, Darcy shut the door to his office, rolled his neck and stretched. _Helluva way to kick off the new year,_ he groaned, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling window. The snow was coming down hard. It was a virtual white-out. _Lucky Georgie, still in Palm Beach for a few more days._

His stomach rumbled. A glance at his watch elicited another, more heartfelt groan. It was nearly two o'clock. Late for lunch. He was starving and not going anywhere in that storm. Especially all the way uptown to Haven Hospital. Until a few days ago, he hadn't realized it was over on 77th Avenue, only a few blocks from his apartment. Darcy remembered the building from his childhood, with the animal statues in front. But he hadn't connected the name and its proximity to his apartment until he had Googled it. He'd hoped to get over there this afternoon on his way home and drop off Elizabeth's shoe. He knew he could messenger it, but that seemed so businesslike. So like what she would expect of him.

Maybe if he could make it out of here early. Darcy peered up at the sky. Maybe if he left now. But he couldn't. More meetings. And he was really hungry. Another stomach rumble brought to mind all the leftovers in his refrigerator at home; Mrs. Reynolds' beef stew sounded good right about now. He leaned over his desk and buzzed his assistant. "Alison, can you please order me soup and a sandwich?"

The door flew open and Charles Bingley bounced in, a giant Panera bag in one hand and an overcoat in the other. "Special delivery!" He paused and took an exaggerated bow. "Darce! It's a white-out! It's like Y2K came a decade late! The city is disappearing! It's amazing."

Darcy bit back a smile and sat on the edge of his desk. "But you made it through, with baked goods?" His eyes were fixed on the bag and his question held a hopeful edge. _My hero_.

"Nope. Lunch." Charles set the bag on the coffee table and hung his coat over a chair. He plopped down on the leather couch and shook his head like a wet dog. A shower of watery, melted snow flew off. "I called you twice and Alison said you were stuck in meetings and likely to bite her head off because you hadn't been fed."

His dimples deepening, Charles looked up at his best friend. "Oh, Will, stick your eyes back in your head and sit down. She felt awful that your first day back was so hellish."

Charles slicked back his wet blond hair. "I was down this way to meet with some guys, but they're stuck at LaGuardia. So I figured we'd have lunch." He frowned at Darcy and began unpacking sandwiches and soup containers. "Now, come have a seat, young man, and tell me all about your New Year's Eve," he said in a high-pitched voice.

"My god, you still do the worst Mrs. Reynolds impersonation I've ever heard." Darcy took off his jacket, tucked his tie into his shirt, sat down across from Charles and reached for a sandwich. "Napa chicken salad?"

Darcy devoured his sandwich and most of his creamy potato soup before he answered Charles' query about New Year's. The details were skimpy and left Charles dissatisfied. "You dropped Liz off and went home? At 10:30? Why didn't you come back to the party? I mean, did you hear my mix? It was awesome."

_Liz? He calls her Liz?_

"You really went home? You didn't have a secret rendezvous for a midnight kiss?" Charles sighed. "Will, you're being so damn careful. What am I going to do with you?"

"Stop channeling Mrs. Reynolds. I was tired." _And I am sick of this conversation_.

Darcy switched to the topic he knew Charles preferred. "So you and Jane skated yesterday?" He gestured at the window. "Good timing."

Charles folded up his napkin and leaned back. He took a deep breath. "Darcy, she's the one. Jane is the one. She is so amazing." He smiled and rubbed his chin. "I can't believe I've only known her for two months."

Darcy shook his head. _And spent every waking moment with her._

"I mean it, Will," Charles said. He reached over into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a small, robin's-egg blue bag.

_Tiffany's? Oh my god. This is too soon._

Darcy covered his shock by brushing the crumbs off his lap.

His blue eyes dancing merrily, Charles started laughing. "You should see your face, Darcy. You'd think I'd pulled a toad out of my pocket."

"Okay, it's a Tiffany's bag. And it's not for me. Must be Caroline's birthday."

Charles pulled a slim box out of the bag. He leaned forward and opened it, showing Darcy the elegant silver bracelet sporting an ice-skate charm.

Darcy, hiding his sigh of relief, exclaimed, "It's beautiful. Jane will love it." He leveled a look at his friend. "It is for Jane, right?"

An ear-to-ear grin split Charles' face. "Yup. The one and only. Our two-month anniversary is next week. I know you're going to think I'm nuts, Darce, but I'm gonna marry that girl."

_Wow. Tread lightly,_ Darcy thought. "Do I dare ask what you gave her for Christmas?" he ventured.

"A Kate Spade overnight bag and a long weekend at that B&B in Stowe. The one Marty and Thorpe always go on about. We can't go till March, though. I think I might ask her then."

Darcy reached for a bag of chips and ripped it open. He shoved a few chips in his mouth. "Why March?"

"Gotta go to Australia. Didn't I tell you?" Charles' face lit up and he started waving his hands. "It's the Queensland Beer shoot. And there's an account review on that canned kangaroo-meat company. KangaBurger." He wrinkled his nose. "But Queensland owns like a dozen other companies, and I really want to score the skincare line."

Darcy swallowed the last of the chips and reached for a water bottle. "How long will you be gone?"

"Two weeks, at least." He sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. "It's going to be so hard to leave Jane."

"Hence the anniversary present?"

Charles smiled sadly. "Can't let her forget about me."

"Does that worry you?"

"No. I think she loves me too," he answered plaintively. "But she is so beautiful. I mean, that red hair is gorgeous. Guys are always staring at her." He cleared his throat. "She never notices it, but they do."

Darcy looked up from the bag he had folded into a one-inch square. He'd never heard Charles sound so unsure of himself with a woman. _He's so needy. Was Jane not as demonstrative with her feelings?_

"Why? Why doesn't she notice?" he asked.

Charles smiled. "I think she's used to it so it doesn't mean anything to her. At least that's what Liz says. Jane has always been beautiful. Even in her first-grade picture, when she was missing her front teeth."

_He's like a puppy that fell in a puddle of love mush_. Will coughed. "You've seen her school pictures? Where are she and Elizabeth from?"

"Outside Philadelphia. Mr. Bennet is a guidance counselor at Meryton High School; their youngest sister is a senior there. Another sister is in grad school. Neurobiology, I think. Their mom runs a gift shop."

_Four girls?_ Darcy thought. "So, sisters leave the suburbs of Philly and make good in New York?"

"Well, yeah. But Jane says they weren't always from Philadelphia. Their parents grew up in West Virginia, in coal country. Still some family there." Charles sighed.

"Coal miners' daughters?" Darcy was shaking his head, trying to connect the dots between these two smart urban women and their working-class roots in coal mining. Every horrible stereotype he'd ever read or seen flashed through his mind. _Blackened faces, overalls, missing teeth, banjos, tar-paper shacks…._

"Nah, granddaughters. They have a few great uncles and aunts down there. Jane says their parents left as soon as they got out of high school." Charles sighed again. "I'm the one from Jersey and Jane's the one with a Springsteen soundtrack for her life."

_Or Loretta Lynn,_ mused Darcy. Fifteen years of friendship and Darcy still couldn't stop rolling his eyes at Charles and his melodramas. But that storytelling was what made him so good in advertising. Darcy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked his friend in the eye.

"Hey, before you strap yourselves on that street machine and roar off down Thunder Road, be sure about how you both feel. Australia is a 22-hour plane flight. You're going to be ten thousand miles apart for two weeks. Use the time to make sure Jane is the one, Charles," he urged.

"Says Mr. Romance Expert," countered Charles.

"Touché," Darcy replied, smarting just a little. He shrugged his shoulders and sat back. "If you're still sure in March, then maybe she is the one. But be certain—you've been `in love' a lot."

Bingley looked unhappy. Then he nodded slowly. "You're right. Though I wouldn't say I've been `flighty in love.'"

_Crap, did I say flighty?_ Darcy wondered.

Charles looked at Darcy's raised eyebrows. "Caroline and Louisa told me I was flighty and to take it slow."

_Buzzzz_….. "Mr. Darcy?" Alison's perky voice filled the office. "Your conference call with Chicago is in 10 minutes."

Lunch with Charles turned out to be the high point of Darcy's workweek. Two more days of meetings and Skype conferences later, he was facing the prospect of trips to Brussels and Zurich. He scheduled a flight for late the following week, after Georgie was settled in school. He went home again that night to a quiet apartment and its sole houseguest—Elizabeth's shoe. _Tomorrow,_ he thought to himself. _My morning is clear. I'll go tomorrow._

* * *

By noon on Friday, the air was still crisp but the skies were clearer than they had been all week. The city had managed to clear most of the streets and sidewalks, and the previous day's slightly warmer temperatures had melted a few inches off the snow mounds. As Darcy turned onto 77th Avenue and approached Haven Hospital, a memory of walking here with his mother flashed through his mind. He ran his fingers along the edge of the statue of the girl and the cat. "Peanut…" he whispered. _I called it Peanut and the dog was Scout._ He peered through the snow for the rabbit. _Ducky. What an imagination_. He smiled, remembering his mother's gentle laugh.

The snow crested around the statuary. A few chips and scratches, but they looked the same as he remembered from 20 years earlier. One glance at the building itself made it clear that the passage of time had been less kind to Haven. Its white marble was mottled and dirty, some of the façade was missing, and it was in dire need of masonry repair.

Walking up the stairs, he glanced to his left and saw a long, sloping metal ramp. Darcy entered through the arching doors and looked around the vast rotunda. He walked up to a 1970s-era reception desk set in front of a faded mural and asked for directions to the elevators. _Eighth floor_.

The elevator moved slowly but efficiently and the doors opened to a circular entryway with narrow hallways branching off of it. Darcy stepped forward, then paused, unsure where to go. He felt eyes watching him.  
"Hello? Can I help you?"

He turned toward the voice at the desk, where a thin young woman who appeared to be channeling the fashion sense of Amy Winehouse sat staring at him. "You lost?"

He shook his head. "I'm here to see Elizabeth Bennet." _Did she have a title? Crap_. "The social worker."

The brunette at the desk eyed him. "Okay. You have an appointment?"

"No. I'm dropping off something."

"Oh, you can give it to me, I'll get it to her."

He looked at her name tag. "No thank you, Lydia. Could you point out her office to me, please?"

Disappointed, Lydia eyed him suspiciously. "Sure. To your left. Office 844. Wait, what's your name?"

"Thank you." Darcy walked away quickly, not liking how Lydia's heavily made-up eyes seemed to be evaluating him. He turned the corner and saw 844 on a doorplate. Below it was a card: Elizabeth Bennet, LCSW. The door was open. He knocked and stepped inside.

It was empty. As in, Elizabeth was not there. But her presence was everywhere. There were some frames on the wall—diplomas from Penn and Columbia, photos of her with Jane and some other girls. _Her sisters?_ The walls held some museum-store prints: Vermeer's "Girl with a Pearl Earring," Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks," Andrew Wyeth's "Christina's World."

The office was a tenth the size of his, and though it contained many of the same things, the atmosphere was worlds apart. There was a desk with a laptop, a stack of file folders, and what looked like blueprints sitting on it. A chair and a filing cabinet, a well-worn leather couch, and a scarred coffee table. He glanced at an easel holding a big posterboard and names in a grid, and a scratched-up bookcase filled with brainteaser puzzles, books and games. He bent down and saw everything from Thomas Merton to Dr. Seuss, as well as Sorry!, Mousetrap and Jenga. _Ha, Robin's favorite_.

As soon as he finished his inventory of Elizabeth's office, Darcy suddenly felt like an intruder. He took a step back and turned to the doorway. He walked out in the hall and leaned against the wall. After a few minutes during which he checked his watch, and started considering whether to leave her brown-bagged shoe and a note with his phone number, Darcy heard Elizabeth's laughter. There were other voices, all speaking in hushed urgent tones. He turned and watched, quietly, as Elizabeth, surrounded by half a dozen teenagers, slowly emerged from a small meeting room across the hall. Two boys were chafing at some directive from Elizabeth but she was gently firm. "Yes, you can."

As the kids shuffled off, one girl turned to Elizabeth and hugged her. "See you Monday, Ms. Bennet. Have a good weekend."

Elizabeth smiled and waved her off. He could see her face now. She looked tired. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing glasses. He stepped forward, out of the shadows and took a deep breath.

"Elizabeth?"

She looked up, surprised and, he thought, wary. "Darcy?"

He spoke quickly, gesturing to his briefcase. "You left something, your, um, shoe, in my car the other night. I've been trying to get it to you all week, but it's been a bit crazy."

She nodded and smiled. "Snowy too. Mr. Delegator- in-Chief came all the way here?"

"Turns out `all the way' is only eight blocks from my apartment."

She was nodding as he spoke and her eyes glittered behind the tortoiseshell frames.

"I used to walk by here with my mother, years ago, but I'd forgotten."

She just stood there and didn't say anything. "Here," he reached into his briefcase and pulled out the bag. "Here's your shoe."

She reached in and pulled it out. "Thank you. I hadn't realized it was gone. I'm lucky I was in your car when it fell out of my bag. Old thing has a crappy zipper."

She led him into her office, where they both fell quiet. "I didn't know you wore glasses," he said.

Her hand flew up to her face. She blushed and pulled them off. He felt the loss immediately.

"Oh these," she said, laughing lightly. "They help me focus."

Will tilted his head. "Smart glasses? From Saks?"

"Uh, no. The bodega around the corner from my place." She looked at him quizzically and smiled when he explained Georgie's glasses and her theories on studying.

It fell quiet again. Darcy could hear himself breathing and the tap-tap of footsteps walking down the hallway. He looked at Elizabeth's feet, noticing that she was wearing black boots with her skirt and sweater. He cleared his throat and looked up quickly. His heart was thudding in his chest. He never did this. He hadn't wanted to ask out a woman since the debacle with Judith. _I have to do this_.

"I feel awful that I kept your shoe hostage all week. May I make it up to you and buy you lunch?" He watched and waited as she processed his hurried request. She blinked four or five times and didn't answer.

"Er, Elizabeth?" He swallowed. He'd leapt before he looked. He was an idiot.

"It's—you don't need to buy me lunch, Will. I owe you. For the ride, and for the return of my glass slipper." She smiled at him but her eyes were serious. "I only have a little over an hour till my next group arrives. Do you mind the coffeeshop around the corner? It's no Gramercy Tavern or Le Cirque, but they have great soup."

"That'd be great, if you're sure," he replied eagerly.

Elizabeth took her coat off the door hook. She closed and locked her office door, prompting him to turn red and apologize for wandering in earlier. She assured him she wasn't worried about a man in a cashmere coat stealing prescription pads or her laptop. "Seriously, I know you're a rich banker, but how big is your yearly cashmere budget?"

They walked to the elevator under the watchful eyes of Lydia. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and pushed the down button. "Pretty big if you include the dry cleaning bills from sloshing and spillage," he said.

She smirked and they fell silent as they stepped into the empty elevator. "So while I was invading your privacy back there…." he began.

"Yes, Mr. Nosy Pants?"

Darcy coughed back a laugh. "I noticed you had games in your office."

"Yes, sometimes games are good prompts for conversation. We have a closetful of them. Sorry! can help a kid say out loud what they're sorry for. Mousetrap is all about frustration and cooperation, and Jenga is a great game for learning cooperation or letting out anger."

Darcy, watching the elevator floor lights blink on and off, grinned. "Yes, I have some familiarity with the emotions that Jenga can elicit."

"Georgie? No way."

"No, my cousin. Georgie was a vicious competitor at Twister back when we both young and limber but thank god puberty cured her of wanting to play that with her big brother." He suddenly realized how awkward that sounded. "I've been told big brothers are terribly embarrassing."

They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward the door. "I'm sure that's true, but I have a lot of experience with embarrassing little sisters."

She led him to Mickey's, a classic New York diner. He followed her menu suggestion, and while they awaited chili and grilled cheese, Darcy asked about the prints in her office.

"Art evokes emotion, and pulls out otherwise suppressed feelings," Elizabeth replied. She reached behind her head and pulled out her barrette. "I've found teenagers relate well to those three in particular. If they don't I have some art books we look at."

Darcy stared, transfixed, at her hair as it cascaded around her shoulders. _It's like wavy dark chocolate._ "Why are you a social worker?"

"Why are you a banker?" she countered.

He sat back and ran his index finger back and forth on the edge of the linoleum tabletop. "Because my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and carry on the family name. Because it's the Darcy legacy. Because I was always really good with numbers."

Her eyes rose from Darcy's hand to his eyes. "And you like it? Or did you just want to do as he did?"

Darcy shrugged. "It's important work. We're able to do some good things with our lending programs and foundation work."

She nodded. "And you came out unscathed in `08, didn't you?"

"Everybody took a hit in the crash, but we're a lot more conservative than most, so we were okay." He paused and ventured ahead. "Elizabeth, do you have a thing about bankers?

She crinkled her nose and smiled. "For them or about them?"

The memory of her yelling at him and his beer-soaked sweater flashed through his head. He closed his eyes briefly to refocus. "I mean, some people are just anti-big business. I saw your diploma. You have a finance degree from Penn?"

Her eyes flared but her words were cut off when their waitress arrived with their order. "Thanks, Juanita," Elizabeth said.

They ate quietly. "The chili is very good," he commented.

She put down her spoon and looked at him. "I tried the world of high finance. It wasn't for me. Power, ego and money are a scary mix. Or maybe it was just too much Polo and cashmere."

Darcy put his hand to his heart. "You wound me."

"Sorry." She looked like she meant it. "How's your grilled cheese? Amazing?"

He nodded, his mouth full of creamy cheese and crispy bread.

"Great—now that I've got you where I want you, it's my turn to ask questions." Darcy's deer-in-the- headlights expression prompted a laugh from Elizabeth. "Why are you a banker when your apartment is full of design books and handcrafted chairs?"

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "They, the books, were my mother's. She was an architect."

"Ah, so you've got left-brain and right-brain talents. Your mother is the reason that you like architecture?"

He nodded and reached for his glass of water. "She loved art. We spent a lot of time at the museums, and looking at buildings, and drawing together." He took a drink. "She worked at MOMA before I was born."

"But you followed in your father's footsteps instead."

He shrugged. "I maintain an interest. I read _Architectural Digest_."

"You, Mr. Darcy, are a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."*

"And you, Ms. Bennet, have read far too many history books. I bet you've never lost a game of Trivial Pursuit."

"Once. Junior year at Penn. My opponent cheated. Strip Trivia Pursuit will do that to a guy." She paused and watched Darcy's expression as he processed this information, mid-swallow, and started choking.

_Is she serious?_

"Are you okay?"

He nodded and took a long drink. "Never met girls like you when I was at school."

"Well, old man, maybe you spent too much time with the boys in your college drinking club. Was it Harvard or Yale?" She laughed. "Is that where you had your first experience with wet cashmere?"

_Old man?_ She was teasing him on so many levels his head was spinning. He was never going to wear cashmere around her again.

"Cleaned your plate?" She glanced at his dishes and then at her watch. "We need to go. Sorry."

Darcy signaled Juanita only to discover Elizabeth had already paid the bill.

"You got the jump on me," he protested. "Please let me pay for lunch. I showed up unexpectedly and pulled you outside."

"I like snow and a good walk. Don't worry about it." Elizabeth buttoned up her coat. "Besides, you bought me coffee. You never explained why you were at City Hall."

Darcy bit his lip, slipped ten dollars under his soup bowl and followed Elizabeth to the door. As they walked outside, he explained that he was checking on the installation of ramps at Georgie's school. "After she was hurt, I realized-the school realized-that even with all the ADA compliance they'd done, a girl in a wheelchair could not attend school there. So I was checking the plans and co-signing permit applications."

"You were?" She looked at him as though considering him anew.

_Yeah, I'm overprotective_, he thought. _A helicopter parent, brother, whatever_.

"You work in a hospital," he added quickly, "so you're already outfitted for any circumstance."

"But Haven needs a lot more than that, as you see. A lot of work." Elizabeth gazed ahead at the building they were nearing.

"Is that why you were visiting the city planning department?" he asked.

"Sorta. I'm doing my part to save the building from the city."

_Talk about an enigma,_ Darcy thought. "So you love this building and art and history, earned a finance degree and became a social worker?"

"Life happens. That's Georgie's favorite game, right?"

"Fine, keep it secret. I just wondered why the transition," he said. _God, she was frustrating_.

"Let's just say that I realized that, despite my need to pay off school loans, making rich guys even richer was not what I wanted to do with my life."

As they walked up the steps to Haven, he watched Elizabeth tap the heads of the statues. He felt the need to share with her his earlier revelation and told her the names he'd given the animals when his mother had brought him over to see the building.

"You know, I bet you're not the only one," she said softly. "Your mother sounds so interesting. She worked at MOMA?"

"She finished her degree and had her own firm for a few years. It shut down after she died."

Elizabeth stared at his coat button. "You were young when she…"

"Twelve."

She nodded. "Hence the difficulty of taking over that family firm."

_You could say that,_ Darcy thought. _Dad made sure that was never a possibility_.

"Oh, there's a guy here whose father used to work with one of your parents. Do you know a George Wickham?"

"Never heard of him."

They stood looking at each for a moment. A few bundled-up pedestrians hurried by below them on the sidewalk. Snowflakes started falling and they both swiped at their faces. Elizabeth put her hand on his arm.

"Thanks for returning my shoe, Will." She looked up at the snowflakes swirling down. "Though it doesn't look like I'll be needing it soon." She strode away and through the revolving doors.

* * *

It had been an endless week and there was still an entire afternoon to endure until the official start of the weekend. Lydia was bored, intrigued by the handsome guy who had left with Lizzy Bennet, and annoyed that George was off working, or chatting up Mary King, or doing something that wasn't entertaining her.

The bits of conversation she'd overheard between Lizzy and the guy weren't all that interesting. They were too freaked out by each other to notice her standing just around the corner. He was a whole lot more awkward and dorky than his high cheekbones and gorgeous black Brioni overcoat would imply. In fact, Lizzy had seemed to be as weirded out by him as Lydia was, making it way too easy to spy on them. Lizzy was totally embarrassed when he'd handed her a brown paper bag and she'd pulled out the baddest red fuck-me heel Lydia had ever seen. Too bad George had missed it. She looked at her phone. He'd told her not to text him; Mary checked his phone sometimes. _Bring up Nov. 25 files. Checking scrips_. Hopefully, he'd remember that Nov. 25 was Thanksgiving, the first time they'd hooked up. Seemed like a smart code.

They were such a clever pair. George figured it out right away and came up from the sixth floor with an empty file folder. She filled him in quickly on what she'd seen.

"You're sure she called him Darcy?" he asked. "I think we've got a winner." He leered at her and slowly ran a finger down her arm. "Later, my magnificent girl? I've got to make a call."

* * *

**Notes:**

* Winston Churchill on Russia in 1939: "A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."

Girl With A Pearl Earring

Nighthawks

Christina's World


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Is it obvious how much I love New York? I can't resist putting D&E in some of my favorite places. Thanks for the wonderful reviews. I'll post again this weekend._

**Chapter 9**

Darcy didn't look back as he walked away. He didn't touch the animal statues. He didn't even think about their names. He just walked down the stairs and back to Lexington Avenue, where he hailed a cab and headed to his office downtown. He kept thinking about the look on Elizabeth's face when he'd stepped back and he didn't know why he had acted as he did. She'd been so funny and so nice, teasing him—again—about his clothes, and as always when he was around her, making him feel like he was witty and interesting. Not just a stodgy banker with a well-known name and a huge bank account.

He didn't know why he hadn't wanted to meet some guy who claimed some tie to his parents. It had been more than a decade since he had even talked to anyone but Georgie or Charles about his mother's career. He'd barely been able to stop himself from telling Elizabeth about his mother's dream that he would take it over. But he had stopped. Hearing about someone trumpeting a connection to his parents had stopped him—stopped him from doing what he wanted to do, which was asking Elizabeth for her number, if he could call her, if she would have dinner with him. Or hell, kissing her, if he was the impulsive type. Which he wasn't.

Instead, he had just brushed snow off her collar and groaned about the new snowfall coming down. Their faces had been only inches apart. His eyes had fallen to her lips; when he'd looked up, she was staring at him. There were tiny gold specks in her eyes. That's what made the green so bright, he now realized. Suddenly she had pulled back and nodded at him.

"Thanks for returning my shoe, Will." She'd looked up at the snowflakes swirling down on them. "Though it doesn't look like I'll be needing it soon." She'd strode away through the revolving doors.

And now he faced a weekend with nothing to look forward to except his sister's return home, piles of paperwork, and perhaps, a run or two around the Reservoir.

* * *

Elizabeth had thought he might kiss her. Or ask her out. She thought she had seen longing in his eyes, but then again, maybe he had just recognized that he was standing far too close to her and that wouldn't do. After all, they had a history, right? A fake one, made up by circumstance and paparazzi and gossip columnists who somehow thought the life of a rich banking scion was just as interesting to their readers as drunken pop singers and felonious reality stars.

She slumped down in her chair and looked at her watch. Three o'clock. She should be writing up her case notes but she couldn't keep her mind off of the mysterious man who had returned her shoe

_Maybe he really does have a problem,_ she thought. Maybe that's what that story was about…he's—. She could barely consider the word, let alone say it aloud. _Impotent? No. No way_. If she looked at him objectively, professionally, he seemed a little depressed. Melancholy. Lonely. And he seemed to be seeking her out.

_He knows I hate bankers, doesn't he?_ She thought she'd been pretty clear about her attitude. _Even if he's polite at parties and makes an effort to be nice, he still puts on a $2,000 suit every morning and gets driven to a corner office to buy and sell companies and make millions and screw over the little guys._

She sighed. Elizabeth knew that wasn't an entirely fair characterization of Darcy, or of all bankers. But he confused her and she didn't have time to be preoccupied with him and his issues. She had patient groups whose dynamics and makeup she needed to re-evaluate, not to mention case notes and med research. And she had to remind Phil Lucas about setting up a hospital tour for the Landmarks Preservation Commission.

Much to do, yet Elizabeth felt uninspired to tackle any of it. One of her kids would simply shrug it off with "life sucks." Elizabeth knew she couldn't complain about her lot in life, but her mood sucked. Perhaps it was because she faced a weekend entertaining her little sisters and nothing to look forward to except for their Sunday departures, piles of laundry, and perhaps—weather-willing—a good run.

She sat up and reached for her laptop. Time to write the notes from today's groups.

_Bzzzz._ Elizabeth fumbled in her pocket for her phone and looked at the message from Jane. _K & M in at 7. Cabbing here from Penn Stn. U pick dinner: Hot Kitchen or Wong?_

So maybe life didn't suck. Elizabeth felt a pleasant surge of surprise to have a busy evening ahead. Eating steamed buns and spicy noodles with her sisters would keep her head and mouth busy and less likely to dwell on her lunch with Darcy. _Why hadn't he simply messengered the shoe? He rearranged his schedule to come here. What was his story?_

Jane had already planned Saturday. They'd go shopping in the morning, meet up with Charles for a late lunch, and head to the Hayden Planetarium. They'd make it an early night. Both girls had school Monday. Mary had to leave for Boston first thing Sunday and Katie had a noon train back to Meryton.

Another text came in from Jane. _Is the air mattress in the closet or under the bed?_

* * *

"Will, you should have seen Anne. We made her get a spray tan with us and she looked so amazing." Georgie leaned against the kitchen counter and waved her hands. Half a dozen new friendship bracelets knotted around her wrist contrasted with her bronzed skin.

"I mean, she still stayed pretty covered up and all, but the Goldfinger look was really good on her."

Amusing as that thought was, he tried not to envision his grossly overweight cousin in a swimsuit nor any of the girls getting a spray tan.

"That stuff isn't toxic or anything, right? It will wash off eventually?"

Georgie rolled her eyes and handed him the last dirty plate. "You should have come too, Will. You need a vacation."

Giving the plate quick rinse, he dropped it into the last open space in the dishwasher.

"Hanging out poolside with a bunch of teenagers—and Anne—is not a vacation for me. It's a nightmare. I'll go do something manly with Robin one of these days."

"No climbing, Will. Robin takes too many risks."

Will heard the serious tone in his sister's voice and nodded. "No climbing. Maybe some skiing, though."

His phone chimed with a familiar ringtone. _Charles._

"Darce! Is Georgie back? Bring her over to Serendipity for lunch. Jane and I want to see her."

"We just finished eating, Charles."

"Well, come for ice cream! We're taking Jane's sisters to the Hayden for `Journey to the Stars.'"

"Sisters?"

"Yeah, Mary and Katie are in for the weekend."

_What about Elizabeth?_ Darcy wondered. He said nothing, waiting. He could feel Georgie staring at him.

"And Lizzy, of course. And some of their friends. You remember Charlotte?"

Darcy closed his eyes. _The Tattooed Trio._

"Will," Charles spoke more quietly. "Caroline is not with us. Come on."

Will expelled a breath. "Wait a second, let me check with Georgie."

He needn't have bothered. Georgie's enthusiasm more than matched his own. Her eyes lit up and she went off to her room to change. Will told Charles they'd be there within half an hour. He walked to his bedroom and headed straight for the closet. He opened the cedar doors and stared at the stacks of sweaters on the shelves. _Wool, cotton, cashmere, silk… _

Twenty-five minutes later, they walked into the crowded, boisterous Serendipity3 on East 60th. Charles sat at one end of a long table, with Jane on his left and a younger woman to his right. Elizabeth sat between two men he didn't know and his stomach tightened. He recognized the faces of the younger Bennet sisters from the photograph in Elizabeth's office. Charles jumped up to hug Georgie and introduce her to Mary and Katie, Charlotte and Willa, and Charlotte's two brothers, John and Robert.

"Oh, and everyone? The tall guy is Will, Georgie's brother." He slapped Will on the back, pulled Georgie down into the empty seat next to Katie, and started peppering her with questions about Palm Beach.

Charlotte smiled at Will and gestured to the empty seat between Katie and Mary and across from Elizabeth and John. He pulled off his jacket and sat down, greeting Elizabeth and giving John an appraising glance. Elizabeth returned his smile and went back to listening to John's story about the mixed blessings of a coffee-press and how using one ruined the wrist of one of his most lucrative artists. Will put his hands under the table and started rubbing his thumbs across the ridges of his wide-wale corduroys.

Mary mumbled a quick hello and turned back to some heated conversation with Robert. Willa smiled at him, showing off an alarming number of white teeth and a multitude of piercings. "I've never gotten a table here before, Mr. Darcy. But apparently you have some pull here," she exclaimed excitedly. "Charles says he used your name to get us this table on a Saturday afternoon." Willa nodded at him and squeezed Charlotte's hand across the table. "A-mazing."

He nodded to acknowledge her comment and reached for the water glass in front of him. His eyes drifted to Willa's wrist, which was tattoo-free. He found himself searching for similar markings on Charlotte's brothers. John ran the gallery where Charlotte worked and their younger brother, Robert, was at Columbia, finishing his masters in Irish literature.

Although Elizabeth was seated between the brothers, Will noted Robert spent most of his time arguing with Mary. He listened to the various conversations going on around him, and tried to catch a bit of what Elizabeth was saying to Georgie. The sensation of being watched hit him and he peered to his right. Over Robert's shoulder, at the table behind them, a blonde woman in her late thirties was watching him. She was deeply tanned and expensively dressed. Will met her eyes. She winked and licked her lips. He recoiled and looked to his left, where he found Elizabeth staring at him with a curious expression on her face. He gave her a tight smile and took a sip of water.

"Nice sweater," she said. "Cotton, is it?"

He nodded. "All the cashmere was at the laundry."

She laughed gaily, drawing the attention of the rest of the table. "That's going to be a big bill. Hope you haven't maxed out your Gold Card."

Will blushed, feeling the eyes of the table upon him. Georgie, seated on the other side of Katie, started to ask a question but he was saved from further probing on his laundry issues when the dessert menus arrived. A spirited discussion on the merits, sinfulness and calorie counts of various items ensued. Charles trumpeted the delights of the Forbidden Broadway Sundae, but Georgie joined Jane in expressing love for Frozen Hot Chocolate. Darcy watched as orders were shouted out for sundaes and banana splits; Elizabeth ordered Dark Double Devil Mousse. He was last to order.

"Humble Pie."

Despite the restaurant din, he couldn't avoid hearing the snickers of laughter around him. Will looked at a smirking Charles and said solemnly, "Speak for yourself, Bingley. There is nothing better than peanut butter and graham crackers."

Ten minutes later, two large trays of decadent desserts arrived and cries of yummy filled the air. When she saw Will's dish, Georgie begged a bite. He spotted Elizabeth eyeing his plate and offered her some to go with her mousse. She flashed him a smile, immediately grabbed an extra spoon and dug into his pie, then plunged the peanut butter- covered utensil into her chocolate. She licked off every morsel and groaned. "Ummmmmm."

_Ohhhh… Isn't this a family restaurant?_ He swallowed. Unable to tear his eyes away, he fumbled for his water glass and took a deep swallow. The moment crashed around him when John leaned over with his napkin and wiped some of the mousse off Elizabeth's cheek. She pushed him away and rose to walk to the ladies' room.

"It's quite incestuous, you know."

Will turned his head and focused on Mary.

"Excuse me?"

She was rolling her eyes at her sister and John. "They're always like that. Lizzy works for their uncle, Phil Lucas, over at Haven Hospital. She interned with him after she quit banking."

He chose to ignore the question of whether there was or had been some relationship between John and Elizabeth. He wondered but couldn't bear asking. Instead he tilted his head closer to Mary's. "Why did she quit?"

"Hated `The Man', you know? It's all about the money," she huffed. "The One-Percenters want to keep everyone down under their jackboots. Bennets might be little old Ninety-nine Percenters, but we don't get trampled on."

Will nodded slowly. He had no idea where to go with that topic, littered as it was with any number of landmines. Mary's severe demeanor, marked by a blunt haircut, nose stud and what he surmised might be a pierced tongue, didn't invite opposing points of view or reasonable discussion. He opted for safer terrain.

"Thus you are not studying finance but..?"

"Evolutionary neuroscience."

_Apparently Bennets were not creationists either._

Katie leaned across his empty pie plate. "Mary, she didn't quit. Lizzy was fired, wasn't she?" she asked.

Mary shook her head almost violently. "No."

"What bank was she with?" he asked quietly.

"Something about a ship and French fries." Katie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Foghorn?"

"Anchor and Freres," Mary scowled. "Nasty people."

Before he could erase the confused expression from his face, Katie spoke again. "Can you pass me the bread basket, please? I need to get it before they dump it out."

Darcy passed it over to her. She gave him an earnest smile.

"It's for the ducks. This is wholegrain bread so it's really good for them."

He nodded as though he knew about duck diets. "Are you in school, Katie?" he asked.

As she dumped the crusts and crumbs into a plastic bag, Katie nervously explained that she was a high school senior and fighting with her parents for a gap year abroad. "Rome and Venice are like the world capitals of stray and abandoned cats, you know? I want to study the feral colonies and build a sterilization sanctuary for them. But my dad will probably make me go to State and study zoology."

Nodding in implied understanding and empathy, Will watched Elizabeth return to the table. She looked like she was about to ask him something when the clanging of silverware caught everyone's attention. Charles was swirling his spoon in a victory lap around his empty dish.

"Gotta get to the Planetarium, folks! Our tickets are for the 4:30 show and we have to visit the bird and mammal halls first." He smiled at Jane. "And maybe the Hall of Gems."

Georgie looked up from her frozen hot chocolate and licked her lips. "Will? May we go? Is that okay?"

She loved the Hayden Planetarium. He wanted to spend the afternoon with his sister, especially before Robin descended upon them tomorrow for another Jets game, but he was feeling off balance around Elizabeth.

Nodding at Georgie, he signaled for the check.

"Darcy! It's my treat!"

Will shook his head and gave his friend a knowing look. "Sorry Charles. Table was under my name." He handed his credit card to the server and headed to the restroom. When he emerged, the woman who had been staring at him from the adjoining table was standing in the vestibule, blocking his way.

"You're William Darcy, right?"

He eyed her carefully. "Excuse me."

"No, wait. I just wanted to give you this and let you know that I can help." She thrust a card at him and grabbed his arm. "Call me," she urged. She stuffed the card in his hand.

He was pulling his arm away when Mary and Charlotte exited the ladies' room.

"Really, call me!"

He avoided making eye contact with anyone and practically ran back into the dining room.

Ninety minutes later, sleepy from their big meal and the fast-paced tour of the exhibits at the American Museum of Natural History, they all settled into their seats in the Planetarium. The two couples raised their chair arms and cuddled up. Georgie and Katie, both already wearing their 3D glasses, spoke quietly. Mary was arguing with Robert about some phylum or another. Darcy sat between his sister and Elizabeth, who was listening to another of John's gallery stories. He'd been monopolizing Elizabeth all afternoon. _Did this guy never shut up? And why the hell wasn't he at his gallery on a Saturday afternoon?_

Suddenly remembering theater protocol, Will dug his phone out of his pocket and hit the mute button. Then he felt Elizabeth's voice in his ear. "So do you always beat Charles to the check, or did I stoke your competitive check-grabbing juices yesterday?"

Between the sensation of her breath in his ear and her voice speaking those words so close to him, Will felt all his blood drain south. He tilted his head toward Elizabeth and whispered, "I beat Charles at everything."

"Really?" Elizabeth whispered back. "Cadging checks, playing games? What else?"

Her elbow was touching his on the armrest. The lights began to dim and he wondered if they'd share the armrest for the entire film. Then John's voice broke into the moment.

"Lizzybit, remember what happened during the IMAX movie we saw senior year at the Franklin Institute?"

_Really? More talking?_ Will put on his 3D glasses and shut his eyes.

_Idiot._

* * *

The four Bennet sisters had grown up sharing two bedrooms and one full bathroom; they'd just spent five days back home in Meryton reliving those heady days of arguments and door slamming. But a second night in Jane's and Elizabeth's ., one-bedroom walk-up was more than even the best-natured sister could tolerate.

After the Planetarium, Jane had reluctantly left Charles and his 2, . bachelor pad behind to join her sisters for another night of bonding and arguing. Mary was irritated by Katie's insistence on doing matching pedicures and facials. Jane was irritated that her sisters' constant snacking had emptied her cabinets of the ingredients she needed for nachos. And Elizabeth was irritated by Mary's nitpicking Robert's thesis topic and entire course of academia. She preferred listening to Katie expound on her conversation with Georgiana Darcy.

"Her name is so beautiful. And she's so smart and pretty," Katie swooned. "Did you see her tan? Did you know she plays the flute? And draws? She broke her leg last year, and she told me she sat in bed and designed her dream house." Katie sighed. "She thought it was so cool that Mary and I play lacrosse."

"Hey, I played in high school too," Elizabeth said. "And then I decided I liked my teeth intact and my shins bruise-free." She thought it interesting Georgie was drawing her dream house. Wonder _how her brother feels about that? _

"Lizzy, use the fuchsia on my big toes," Katie whined. Then her voice turned conspiratorial. "Georgiana is not like her brother. He is really scary, in like, a Dark Knight kind of way. Mysterious and quiet and full of secrets."

Elizabeth looked up from Katie's toes. "Secrets?"

"Well, he's all broody and quiet. Something is in there."

Mary rolled over from her angry position on the couch. "He's kinda smoldery. At least that pushy woman at the restaurant thought so."

Elizabeth's eyes shot to Mary. Briefly she noticed that her sister's hot pink toenail polish really set off her multiple toe rings.

"What woman?"

Mary rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. "The one who was staring at him all through lunch. They were talking by the restrooms before we left and she was giving him her card and telling him to call her."

Elizabeth sat back and screwed the top back on the nail polish. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He looked pretty freaked out," Mary said. "Like he was embarrassed we saw it. Charlotte was kinda annoyed by it. She said he gets written up in the papers a lot."

Elizabeth nodded and made a mental note. _Call Charlotte tomorrow._

Katie coughed and admired her toes. "Good job, Lizzy." She looked up and furrowed her brow. "Why does he get written up? Is he famous?"

"Dammit!" A crash in the kitchen saved Elizabeth from answering. She got up and headed over to help Jane clean up the dry fusilli spilled all over the floor.

Now she was under the covers in her closet bedroom, unable to fall asleep and trapped without the one thing that could help. The TV was in the other room, where her sisters could be heard rustling around on the couch and air mattress. Occasionally Katie would cough.

It was William Darcy's fault she was wired. He was around too much, bringing with him that air of moneyed importance and expensive casualwear. _What did Mary call it? Smoldery? Smoldering. Yeah, that was him._

His sister didn't smolder even though she had the same dark brown eyes. When she wasn't spray-tanned and sun-bleached, Georgie had much lighter coloring and hair the color of wheat. Not smoldery at all, she was more Jane-like.

Elizabeth had only met Georgiana twice but she'd noticed her eagerness to join in and be part of the group around her. _Unlike her brother_. Elizabeth also had noticed how frequently Will had checked on his sister. Was he worried about the influence of her sisters, or of Charlotte? She had seen him ogle Willa's eyebrow rings and shake her hand, but he'd wiped his hands on his napkin right afterward. Ah, she shuddered. Th_e ever-sweaty Willa._ And Elizabeth knew Mary could come on a little strong, but had he never seen a nose stud before? She was in grad school, for God's sake. How was he going to react to his darling sister living in a 12 x 12 room in a co-ed dorm next year? Or was he going to stick her in one of the family properties? Buy her a penthouse?

_Why was he so quiet at the restaurant?_ It had been really nice when he shared his dessert. And when he'd joked with her about his cotton half-zip sweater. Saturday casual became him. He even wore Levis. Granted, that pea coat had set him back a few hundred bucks, but it was worth it. She'd take one too—if she could afford it.

She thought back to the museum and wondered why he was so grumpy there. It all started when they left the restaurant and his car wasn't there. Apparently, "the driver" had had to go around the block to double-park. He was trying to make sure Georgie rode in their car, and had leaned over to tell Elizabeth he had room for two more. But she was already climbing into a cab with John and Katie. He and Georgie were left riding with Willa and Charlotte. If that was the death knell for his afternoon, mused Elizabeth, riding in a chauffeured town car was the high point for Willa. Elizabeth wondered if she might throw over Charlotte and make a play for a tall handsome and decidedly male banker.

Then, Elizabeth thought, although Darcy had walked near her most of the time at the museum, he'd never really tried to initiate a conversation beyond asking if she was having a nice visit with her sisters. He had asked Mary a few questions about her studies and talked to Robert about Yeats and Iowa. _Why the hell was he talking about Iowa? What the hell would he know about Iowa? It was flat and grew corn and its citizens had way too much power over presidential primaries. Why were they discussing Iowa?_

Perhaps she could have tried to get John to shut up about his damn gallery. She heard enough about it from Charlotte—mostly complaints about her brother's tastes. Elizabeth questioned his artistic motives; John had always tried a little too hard to be cool and being a _very_ straight straight-arrow in a West Village gallery was a tough fit. Will hadn't even tried to talk to him. Of course, maybe he figured he couldn't get a word in edgewise with John.

When the museum had closed at 5:30 and they exited to Central Park West, Charles had invited everyone over to his place a few blocks away. But Darcy had demurred, put his arm around his sister, thanked everyone for a lovely afternoon, and headed off with a tired, but seemingly disappointed Georgie in tow. Jane's disappointment deepened when Willa, Charlotte, and the Lucases also signaled other obligations.

Elizabeth rolled over and plumped her pillow. Mary had borrowed her good down pillow and this foamy one was full of lumps.

* * *

_Notes:_

Serendipity3 is an awesome NYC ice-cream parlor. The food is okay too, but it's the atmosphere that really matters. Plus, back in my grad school days, I sat at a table next to Richard Gere's table. Enough said.

The Hayden Planetarium is part of the American Museum of Natural History. If you've never been there, you can visit the museum in the Ben Stiller film, "Night at the Museum"

The Franklin Institute is Philadelphia's great science museum. My parents used to drag us there all the time. And a few years ago, we took our kids to see _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ on its IMAX screen. Amazing to watch a quidditch match that way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

January's early thaw fooled no one in New York. Weeks and months of cold and dreariness were still to come. In the days after the group's museum outing, time crept by slowly for both William Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Both were consumed by work, social obligations and tamping down thoughts of each other.

By Wednesday, when Will boarded a flight for Zurich, he was exhausted. He looked forward to shutting down for at least a few hours. Since Monday he had been sitting in meetings and lunches, and making phone calls trying to smooth over hard feelings created by the faltering Delteon deal. The board was restless and the chairman, Ken Whitley, was furious. He'd sent Robin to Chile to meet with copper mine executives.

Will just wanted to sit on the plane and close his eyes for a few hours with a blank mind. He knew he was asking the impossible. There was always one more thing to think about, and he was tired of making decisions and seeking input and listening to violently opposing viewpoints. One of the high points of the last two days had been walking into the kitchen and finding whatever meal Mrs. R had chosen to prepare. No choices, no decisions and always delicious.

Now he had a seven-hour flight with no one he had to listen or answer to. He pushed his seat back, plugged in his ear buds, scrolled down his iPod's display screen, and clicked on one of the "FlyBro" playlists Georgie had made him a few months ago. Will drew down his eyeshade as the first notes of Nick Drake's "Pink Moon" played. His thoughts drifted to his sister.

She was back in school, climbing the stairs to classes on the third floor, and seemingly back to normal. _No,_ he thought, _better than normal_. She seemed happier, more social, more giggly. He'd like to think it wasn't just because she was catching senioritis and felt carefree until Decision Day. He'd like to think she was just happy to be spending so much time with girlfriends.

At least it wasn't some boy. He'd never been one to monitor his sister's online interactions; he knew she did Facebook and Instagram and all those other things he paid little attention to. But a boy—whether in the flesh or online—worried him, so he'd checked with Mrs. Reynolds last night after dinner.

"William, she is almost 18. Stop fighting the inevitable and be prepared." Mrs. Reynolds had shaken her head and given him a pleading look. "And stop fighting with yourself. Go find yourself a beautiful young lady worthy of you."

Georgie was voicing some similar concerns. They'd never talked about the press coverage he'd received the previous year when Judith had dumped him so publicly. Some topics were off limits between a teenage girl and her grown brother. He'd tried not to think himself cowardly for letting Mrs. R, who knew early on that he didn't have strong feelings for Judith, answer his sister's questions.

In some not-so-subtle ways, Georgie had started asking him about his social life. She'd noticed that Charles was less available for dinner or Game Night since he had met Jane, and Georgie appeared worried that once she left for college, her brother would be even more alone. She'd run down a long list of possible girlfriends for him, laughingly insisting that Charlotte and Willa could both be "turned straight" by his charms and his chauffeured BMW. She sighed in bewilderment that Jane's two sisters could possibly be involved with the Lucas brothers. Mary was quite opinionated, but Georgie observed that Robert seemed to enjoy debating Mary as much as Mary enjoyed yanking his chain. The spark was there but hadn't ignited, Georgie insisted. On the other hand, she was confident Elizabeth would never look at John as anything but a boring, overbearing friend with a good heart.

"She's too smart for him. But too nice to ignore him," she'd sighed. "It's an ugly trap. He's like flypaper. None of the guys a woman might want to know can get past him."

Will had raised his eyebrows and stared at his little sister.

"I read an article about it in _Cosmo_," she'd insisted.

"Indeed." He silently agreed with her. Elizabeth was obviously way too good for the chatterbox and seemed pretty exasperated by his attention.

Will had spent a lot of time over the past few days mulling over Saturday's outing, and remembering how Elizabeth wielded her spoon, mingling their desserts and savoring them. She'd licked the spoon clean. Just thinking about it could put his entire body in flames. Everything about her was so real, so vibrant. Not like Judith or any other woman he'd known.

While what he knew about Elizabeth overwhelmed his senses, what he didn't know about her frightened him. He was thinking about her far more than was healthy; he had too much to deal with at work, and his life wasn't simple. As much as he could admit he liked Elizabeth Bennet, he was realizing he liked her far more than was safe. He needed to be careful with his personal life; embarrassing headlines led to board room conjecture about his business sense and maturity. Any woman he spent time with would be under a microscope after the Judith debacle, and the flurry of attention Elizabeth already had received had not been appreciated.

Will had sworn not to ever Google a friend; knowing what people would read if they Googled him had put him off ever prying. And it was even more wrong to look into Elizabeth's life; he respected her too much. But finally, his curiosity overwhelming him late Monday night, he had decided to view it as he would a business deal. He wouldn't invest money without learning all he could about a company; perhaps it was time to learn more about Elizabeth Bennet.

There wasn't much at first glance. And without knowing her middle name to narrow the search, he'd found himself wading through more Elizabeth Bennets (and Elizabeth Bennetts) than he'd counted on. He'd learned many things, big and small. She'd played lacrosse in high school and had won an academic scholarship to Penn. She ran 5Ks in respectable times. She volunteered at the Special Olympics. She'd worked at Anchor & Freres for a year in their MBA training program but left abruptly.

_Hmm,_ he'd thought. Elizabeth had been working under Jack Bertram and Brian Denny. Both were well-known for their restructuring deals in the minerals industry, but both had been fired by the firm and indicted after a pension rollover deal they had brokered had raised a number of regulatory eyebrows. He didn't recall the exact details, but Darcy remembered that Bertram and Denny had headed a cover-up for a client and at least one of them was in prison.

And Elizabeth had left the firm. It was unclear whether she had been fired or implicated in the pension scheme.

Now, two days later and 30,000 feet over the Atlantic, Will still couldn't stop thinking about what he'd read. He couldn't believe her guilty of anything. _She hates bankers. Did she know what these guys were doing? Did the bank fire her? Or did she leave by choice? What happened? Did he dare ask her? When would he see her again anyway? _He sighed and put off the questions. He'd figure it out when he got home.

But when he arrived back in New York six days later, he was fighting more than the cold he'd caught in London. He was battling an insurrection on his board. And whatever Elizabeth might have done or not done at Anchor & Freres—Darcy had neither the time nor the inclination to find out. He couldn't take a chance on associating with Elizabeth Bennet.

* * *

Charlotte Lucas had always recognized the imbalance of power in her relationship with her older brother. While she had never had problems fitting in as the alternative emo girl in school, John had been the awkward boy who liked showing off his juggling skills. She'd charmed her way to better grades and great college recommendation letters through well-honed conversational skills and access to vintage bootleg vinyl and concert tickets. John had simply worked very hard and diligently pestered his teachers about his application deadlines.

Yet now they proved to be each other's valuable counterweight. Her people skills and artistic temperament made up for John's social weaknesses, his skill with numbers and business acumen compensated for Charlotte's less-studiously applied knowledge. While handsome and kind, John's overbearing manner and nonstop chattering required—in the stingingly well-meant words of their mother—"balance." Someday John might find a wife or business partner or life coach to curb his tendencies, but until then, Charlotte was content to suffer her brother's irritating habits to help run his gallery. She liked earning a solid paycheck and having solid healthcare insurance in a job that left her time for other passions, like music and blogging.

Charlotte had known for years that John's behavior grated on Elizabeth. And when her best friend called to set up drinks, dinner or coffee as soon as possible, she knew the issue had come to a head.

But between overseeing the electrical re-wiring at the newly repainted gallery and helping John with the installation of a new show by running interference and schmoozing with the artist and her fans, Charlotte was busy. Overwhelmingly busy. Willa was lonely and the ferrets missed her. So she put off Lizzy until Monday evening of the following week.

By the time that Monday evening rolled around, it had been a terrible day for Elizabeth. She was in a bad, bad mood. She went to the gym after work but found spinning class monotonous. She walked out and discovered a much more satisfying outlet in kickboxing. _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! _

She was annoyed at everyone. John had finally creeped her out. Charlotte didn't have time to spend with her. Jane was antsy about Charles' impending departure and already was bemoaning a Valentine's Day without him. Lydia wouldn't stop asking her about her lunch date with "Mr. Hottie."

_Right. Mr. Hottie._ After the museum visit, Sweater Boy had become Mr. Grumpy, and she didn't think it likely she'd run into him again. At least not until Charles was back from Down Under. And he hadn't even left yet….

And that other Lucas, her boss, really had her steaming. _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ Phil had missed the deadline on crucial paperwork and as a result, it was unlikely any city money would be forthcoming to repair Haven this year. It was equally unlikely that the building would be granted status as a historical landmark. Such a status was a mixed blessing—it would save the building and allow restoration and renovations, but no expansion. She'd so hoped to grow the outpatient services clinic she helped run and open an inpatient, round-the-clock drug and counseling center. So many of the kids she and her colleagues saw needed longer-term help, close to home but living onsite as a group. As long as Haven's footprint remained as confined as it was, there was little hope of it offering additional psychiatric services.

_Lucases._ She was annoyed with all of them. Most of them. _Thwack!_

An hour later, when Elizabeth and Charlotte finally sat down for drinks at their favorite Village bar, the benefits of hitting and kicking rubber dummies had taken effect. Elizabeth felt almost zen-like. _Calmly annoyed,_ she thought.

"Seriously, Char? John said you guys were closed for renovations but he said it so ominously, I was worried things were bad. Saleswise." Elizabeth peered at her friend and reached for another tortilla chip. "I guess I should be happy for you, for everyone. If people are buying art, that means the economy is roaring back, right?"

"Sure, for those who've got the greenbacks to troll galleries for abstract paper sculptures their cats will pee on."

"Tsk-tsk. You don't believe in your artists, Charlotte."

"Not much…I believe in the business though." Charlotte leaned back and sipped her mojito. "It's just a matter of defining that to John. He picks artists who sell well, who get good reviews."

"But you do everything else?"

Charlotte nodded. "John has his gifts, Liz. And his share of obtuseness." She looked around the nearly empty bar and wrinkled her nose. "Was he completely annoying you last weekend?"

Elizabeth nodded. "He kind of monopolized every conversation. I was hoping he might talk to Katie about what happened in Spain during his gap year and talk her out of her obsession for one."

Charlotte ran her hand through her spiky blonde hair. "Lizzy, you know John would never share the story of `the horny goat' in mixed company. Don't Darcys have delicate sensibilities?"

"Georgie would deny it and her brother would be covering her ears." Elizabeth glanced at her friend. "I wanted to talk with Georgie a little more."

"And her brother? You wanted to talk to him too?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Charlotte's smirk. "A bit…."

"It isn't John you wanted to talk to me about, is it? It's about the shoe, right? Why didn't you tell me you had lunch with William Darcy?"

"Excuse me?!" gasped Elizabeth. "What—how do you know about that?"

Charlotte tilted her head and peered seriously at Elizabeth. "The item on Page Six last week? "Darcy Plays Prince Charming?""

Getting no response, Charlotte continued. "You're his Cinderella? Darcy came to Haven with a red stiletto? What's up with that?"

Elizabeth sat back in her seat. This explained the winks from Phil Lucas, the disapproving glances from Mary King, and the leers from Lydia, as well as the two voice mails from the _Post_ that she'd deleted without listening to. But it didn't explain how the newspaper found out.

She recounted for Charlotte the series of events which had taken her shoe from Charles' apartment to Darcy's car and then to her via a lunchtime delivery. Abruptly, she asked Charlotte if the paper had run a photo. Reassured the story had run only a few lines long, she shook her head. "How did they find out? I didn't tell anyone." _Did he?_

"He took you home on New Year's Eve?" Charlotte asked. "And he came to Haven and brought you your shoe? What are you not seeing?"

_I'm seeing a guy who annoys me. He's hot, he's cold. He looks at me like I'm crazy for giving up the riches of Wall Street so I can work at a decrepit hospital. And I can't figure out his feelings, so how can I figure out mine?_

"Char, he's extremely well-bred and polite. He's best friends with my sister's boyfriend."

"Did you really not see how he looked at you at Serendipity?"

"Well, I was a little bit busy listening to your brother's woes," Elizabeth said. "Who knew a coffee press could yield so many fascinating conversational tidbits?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, he means well. But I feel like I missed half of what went on that day."

Charlotte grimaced and scooped up some guacamole. "I'll talk to him. Willa nearly has him convinced to join an online dating site."

"Worked for you two," Elizabeth commented. "Cute New Year's card, by the way. How did you get the ferrets to hold still in those costumes?"

Charlotte looked amused. "Feed `em a heavy meal and they're like sloths. Sid, especially. Nancy's just a wiggler."

Ferret inquisition over, Elizabeth forged ahead. "Mary said something about some woman accosting Will at the restaurant?" She took a swig of her margarita and stared expectantly across the table.

"Oh. That. It was weird." Charlotte filled Elizabeth in on the woman who seemed to be pouncing on a very uncomfortable Will. "Mary said the woman was staring at him while he ate. She saw her jump up when Will went to the restroom, and Mary decided to follow her. She was a little worried for him."

Incredulous, Elizabeth cried, "William Darcy? My little sister went off to protect the great and powerful William Darcy from some blonde bimbo attack?"

"She wasn't far from wrong, Lizzy. And Mary is far from your `little' sister. That girl is ready for a triathlon." Charlotte smirked. "She and Robert certainly have some sparks, don't they?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I've never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at your brother. Quite a meeting of the minds."

Charlotte glanced at her buzzing phone. Willa was asking when she should put the barley-eggplant-tomato casserole in the oven. She tapped a few keys and looked up.

"Lizzy, the man gets his name in the paper. Business pages, gossip pages, the good, the bad and the ugly. It's pretty amazing he can lead a normal enough life to go to the planetarium with little old regular people like us," she said evenly. "And his sister is very nice."

Elizabeth nodded. "Well. So is my sister. And so is John's sister," she added, smiling. She turned serious. "Was the blonde a reporter?" _Did she see me?_

"I don't know. She gave him a card, but he sure didn't want to take it."

Charlotte phone buzzed again. "Lizzy—."

"I know, I know. You've got to get home to the wifey."

As she left, Elizabeth gave Char a hug and asked her to help keep Jane busy and distracted. "Charles is leaving tomorrow for a couple of weeks in Australia. It will be so gloomy at our place, Char. I can only take so many romantic comedies and you know I hate "Steel Magnolias.""

"Oh poor Lizzy. You never did grow any sentimental bones, did you?"

As she walked the few blocks to her apartment, Elizabeth pondered how she'd landed in the papers, again. _Some Cinderella. Some Prince Charming_. She stopped walking when realization dawned. _Mr. Hottie? That gossipy wastrel of a file clerk. She was going to kill Lydia._

Her attitude was no better the next day. Her neck hurt all morning after she spent 10 minutes craning it over her seatmate's shoulder to read the newspaper story headlined: "Darcy Deal With Copper Mine Blows Up."

_Figures._

* * *

Winded and panting, Darcy sat on the granite embankment overlooking Iphigene's Walk. He'd hoped a run through Central Park would finally knock the last vestiges of this cold out of his chest. Instead, he felt even more miserable. He'd been back in New York for a week, sick and now hoarse from the endless arguments he'd been waging in the boardroom and in his office. He'd known the Delteon deal was a little too slick from the beginning and he'd been proven right. Now he and Robin were thrust into the middle of its meltdown, pitting one of Pemberley Fund's most important, most lucrative accounts against a conglomerate that felt its workers' interests and its environmental concerns were betrayed by the deal. He was beset by a furious longtime client and angry investors, as well as infighting among veteran board members who felt the lucrative payout of the deal outweighed any other concerns.

Darcy had tried to assuage the chairman's anger over dinner last night. He'd talked to Ken Whitley about a handful of alternative energy companies he'd been looking at, and he'd hoped to interest him into helping steer Delteon toward an investment in solar and wind energy. Whitley would not hear of it. He wanted the Chilean copper mine deal to work. Or else.

Ken had leaned toward him and said quietly, "Watch your step, William. Your father's name is on this bank. Your name is not. Your name shows up in the paper, playing Prince Charming to some girl's Cinderella. What the hell are you doing?" He'd stood up and tossed his napkin on the chair.

"Do your job and fix this deal."

Stunned and confused by Ken's parting words, Darcy had headed straight home to look up the story. _Do I Google myself?_ He'd felt dirty just clicking onto the _Post's_ website.

* * *

_"Is William Darcy, last year's loser in love, playing footsie to get back his mojo as Prince Charming? Seems the man can't stay away from  
his Cinderella, Liz Bennet. Sources spotted him at Haven Hospital handing her a sexy red stiletto out of a paper bag last week. Not clear if it fit,  
but we hear that high heel generated some lunchtime heat between the couple. Who knew a Manolo Blahnik knockoff could rev up our listless lover boy?"_

* * *

_Five sentences._ Five sentences that made him look like a fool, traipsing around Manhattan with a red high-heel. _How the hell did they get this? Why does anyone care? Shit_.

He'd tucked Elizabeth Bennet into a little compartment of his brain, but it seemed she was going to keep popping into his life, whether or not either of them wanted it. He pulled out his phone and re-read an old text from Charles. He hadn't understood it at the time and hadn't had time to follow up with his friend, who was manic in preparing for his trip. _Cinderella? What's up?_

_Nothing Charles,_ he'd replied. _Go play with the dingoes._

Assuming Elizabeth had told her sister about the shoe, and Jane had told Charles, he'd thought little of the message at the time. _Idiot._

Will stared at the phone, trying to remember if Charles was leaving today. He pushed his number on speed dial and waited. As it rang, he stared at a food vendor selling coffee to a guy holding a long-lensed camera. He yanked down his cap and pulled up his collar and ducked his head to the right, watching the footpath filled with pedestrians and a few runners who, like him, thrived in the cold, crisp air. One figure, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, caught his attention. _Elizabeth._ She was running toward him. Charles' voice-mail message filled Darcy's ear but he was intent on watching Elizabeth. She slowed down, jogging in place, and looked up at him. He stared down at her, then looked away, bent his head and spoke quietly into the phone. "Hey Charles. Have a great trip. Be careful of the poisonous spiders. Give me a call when you can."

He clicked off on his phone and looked up. She was gone. He glanced back at the food cart. The photographer was sipping his coffee and walking down the same footpath Elizabeth was on. Darcy got up, walked down the rocks and jogged in the opposite direction.

_So…is Darcy taking the road less traveled? Or just following the one all Darcys must traverse on the way to Hunsford? More on Tuesday!_

**Notes**

Pink Moon by Nick Drake You might remember it from a Volkswagen commercial.

Iphigene's Walk, on the northeast edge of the Ramble, commemorates Iphigene Ochs Sulzberger, the daughter of Adolph Ochs, the publisher of the New York Times. Sulzberger led preservation efforts at the Park and used her family's influence to fight any plan that could deprive the public of its serene natural settings. She was president of the Central Park Association from 1934-50. You can read all about the park and its visionary creators, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, here.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for all the fun comments and reviews! I'm glad my love for NYC is coming through. Darcy truly appreciates the cheering section. And um, that DarcyLove will be needed soon as this is what we call the pre-Hunsford chapter._

**Chapter 11**

Black and white was still the way Elizabeth Bennet saw the world, but right now, she was seeing red. _He saw me. He looked right at me. And he turned away. What the hell? _The guy who had seemed on the verge of making a move or asking her out or something, over and over, the guy who had kept showing up by her side, at her office, had just blown her off in Central Park? _In the middle of the freakin' universe?_

She exited the park through the Merchants' Gate and stood panting, hands on hips, staring at nothing. "Hey lady, you next?" A skinny kid in a Mets cap gestured at the Plaza Café kiosk in front of her. "You ordering something?"

She shook her head and jogged off toward Seventh Avenue. _Just get to the train,_ she thought. _Just get the hell away from him. _She fumed all the way to the station trying to wrap her head around Darcy's behavior. _Rescues me on New Year's Eve. Brings me my shoe. Asks me to lunch. Acts like he wants…more? Practically ignores me at lunch and at the museum. Never gets in touch or says a word about the latest press coverage of "our" relationship. And now he stares at me and turns away._

She refused to concede that she hadn't raised her own hand or nodded or done anything to acknowledge him either. That wasn't the point. He'd ignored her. White-hot anger dueled with cold disappointment. Elizabeth stared at her fellow subway passengers. Most were staring at their phones or at newspapers. Two teenagers, heavy backpacks on their laps, cuddled and giggled. An old woman read her Bible. Two middle-aged women sat chattering in what she thought might be Korean. A chubby man with an elaborate comb-over shifted a squirming shopping bag from one arm to another. He looked at Elizabeth. "Would you like a kitten?"

Elizabeth shook her head and averted her eyes.

When she finally reached her stop, Elizabeth jogged up the steps to the sidewalk and headed home. Another day of mopey Jane was the last thing she needed. She knew that Jane wouldn't have heard from Charles yet. "The Sweetest Boyfriend in the World" had left yesterday after warning Jane that between his lengthy air travel, time difference, and certain jetlag, he probably wouldn't be in touch for a few days.

She'd nodded sadly, assuaged by kisses and hugs, love notes and a two-month anniversary gift. Jane adored her bracelet and the ice-skate charm; she worried that she couldn't wear it for work but kept it in her bag to be put on her wrist as soon as her workday ended.

Elizabeth's smart, beautiful, happy big sister would do as she always did when sad, suffering from PMS or a broken heart. She would eat. With all this in mind, Elizabeth stopped at Gristedes on Houston and picked up eggs and brownie mix before heading home.

A glance at the New Yorker wall calendar showed a series of black frowny faces inked in from Jan. 28-Feb. 14. Charles had promised, as best he could, to return in time for their first Valentine's Day as a couple.

The kitchen table held a stack of Jane's favorite DVDs. With yet another sinking feeling, Elizabeth realized she could look forward to at least two weeks of Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, and Renee Zellweger or, if she was really lucky, Judy Garland and Elizabeth Taylor.

"Lizzy! I have it all mapped out," called a voice from the couch. "We need to go ice skating so I can learn to skate backwards and twirl with Charles! And we'll do extra crunches to work off all the food we're going to eat."

_We? Who is this we she is talking about?_

Jane's red head popped up. Elizabeth gave her a quick once-over. She was pale but her eyes weren't puffy or red. And Charles had been gone nearly two whole days. _This was good._

"I have a plan. We start with really sad movies and work our way up to all the happy ones. How about `Splendor in the Grass' tonight? I love Natalie Wood. And Warren Beatty was so hot before he got old and married."

Elizabeth stood, blinking at her sister. _We? _

She bit back a reply. She wanted to tell Jane `I told you so,' that her little sister been right about Darcy from the first night they met at E.J.'s. But that would only make Jane sad and she'd want to talk it out with the absent Charles—which she couldn't—so she said nothing but a cheery, "Sounds good!"

The sister-hostage situation had begun. Over the next few days, with still no word from Charles, things could only get worse. And they did.

As usual on Thursday mornings, the Lexington Avenue Local was late. Elizabeth was reading page five of the _Times'_ front section by the time her train rolled in. Grateful for small favors, she slid into an empty seat beside a tiny woman hunched over a giant coffee. Elizabeth, happy not to be sharing her half of the seat with someone else's hip or briefcase, leaned back and turned to page six.

**_Heard On The Street: J.J. Willoughby To Bid For `Haven' On Upper East Side_**

Elizabeth gasped. Her wizened seatmate glanced at her and sneered. "Yuppies."

Elizabeth bent over the paper and read the article. The news was dire. _The most annoying, self-proclaimed billionaire real estate developer in New York wanted to buy Haven Hospital, raze it and put up another skyscraper with his name on it?! How could this happen? How is the building for sale? Did Phil know about this? Did the board? Could this train move any faster?!_

She practically ran off the train at the 77th Avenue stop and walked as quickly as she could through the crowds and over the icy sidewalks to Haven. Her fingers drifted over the statues as she raced up the stairs.

Elizabeth headed straight to the fourth floor and burst into Phil Lucas's office. He put up a hand to hold her off and finished speaking on the phone. He hung up, stared at his paper-strewn desk, and ran a hand through the sparse hair atop his head.

"You saw the _Times_, didn't you?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Phil, tell me this is just a rumor, that there's no truth to it." She felt wild-eyed, desperate for his reassurance.

"Not exactly, Elizabeth." Her boss plopped down in his chair and gestured for Elizabeth to shut the door and take a seat. It was no secret that Haven's location on the Upper East Side was pricey, much sought-after real estate. Willoughby apparently had been eyeing it for some time and was floating a trial balloon in the media. Elizabeth nodded. "The Troll," as Willoughby was called by many New Yorkers, had some weird Freudian need to build tall pointy buildings with his name emblazoned on them. He had harped in the _Times _article on the many space and renovation issues facing Haven and suggested that Haven had outgrown the neighborhood and would be better situated in a wing at another facility across town.

"Who is he to know anything about healthcare? About psychiatry? About what we do?!" Elizabeth's hands were in a death grip on the chair arms. She stared at Phil, but he was ashen, staring overhead at a painting of Haven.

Finally he spoke. "Willoughby is just spouting off. I'll talk to our friends at City Hall. You know the mayor hates losing old city buildings."

"Get real, Phil. The mayor is a billionaire businessman. He's all about streamlining and gentrification. Maybe if we open an obesity wing to treat people addicted to Big Gulp sodas he'll keep us open."

Elizabeth glanced at her watch and stood up. "I better go. I have a patient coming in ten minutes. Let me know what I can do. Is it really too late to get those papers filed for landmark status?"

Phil shrugged. "I screwed up. It was a huge oversight. I'd fire someone who missed a deadline like that." He looked at Elizabeth. "Does Charlotte know it was my fault?"

One glance at his pained expression made Elizabeth's answer an easy one. "I haven't mentioned it. And it wasn't just you. We weren't getting much help."

She patted his hand and headed out the door. She knew exactly where she was heading after work.

_Kickboxing._ She was going to need a bigger dummy.

* * *

By the following week, Jane's ups and downs were mostly down. She had talked to Charles twice, but two tries at Skyping had been sputtering, glitchy affairs. The time difference and their separate, overwhelming work schedules thwarted most attempts, and e-mail became the only easy way to communicate. Charles, however, hated to write. He was great at posting pictures on his Facebook page, though, so Jane was able to see him as he grew increasingly tan in Sydney and then in the Outback where the commercials were being filmed. Jane was now watching any movie she could find set in Australia and had developed a huge crush on Hugh Jackman. And she'd decided to try a spray tan. "Oh Lizzy," she would moan through her February layers of wool and down. "It's summer Down Under."

Elizabeth was pulling out the food processor to make pesto when she heard the front door open and close. "Jane?" She set the machine on the counter and peeked out into the living room. It was empty. "Jane?" Elizabeth turned off the radio.

Her New York Spidey Sense kicked in and she grabbed a butcher knife off the counter. She tiptoed toward her purse, slung on a chair and containing her cell phone. One more step and she could hear Jane sobbing in her bedroom.

Elizabeth put the knife on the counter and stared at the pine nuts and freshly chopped basil. Dinner could wait. She clicked off the burner under the boiling water and headed to Jane's room. After a detour into the bathroom for a box of tissues, she knocked on the door.

"Janey? Honey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jane hiccupped.

"I'm coming in." She opened the door and looked into the red splotchy face of a heartsick angel. Elizabeth squared her shoulders and mustered all her sister/social worker skills.

An hour later, Jane was eating her second bowl of Frosted Cheerios while Elizabeth heated up leftover chili. The pesto could wait for another day. She was happy that Jane was drowning her sorrows in sugar rather than vodka martinis. She was a professional after all, and had to be at work at 8 a.m. the next day.

Lizzy was going to _kill_ Caroline Bingley. That awful woman had taken sweet, beautiful Jane out for lunch and proceeded to talk about all the Skyping she was doing with Charles, and about the "Sheilas" he was meeting. She'd patted Jane's hand and told her not to worry. Charles was always straying and coming back to girlfriends until they wised up and broke up with him, she'd said. "He needs space, Jane. And he likes to bring different people into that space. But his flings never last long. He'll be back, Jane, and will throw his arms around you. I just wanted you to be prepared."

Elizabeth had figured out on Game Night that Caroline Bingley was a pretentious bitch. Now she knew she was an evil pretentious bitch. Jane went through life wearing rose-colored glasses. Their father, a great fan of Monty Python, liked to whistle "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" when she was around. Jane saw only the goodness in people. During every Lifetime movie they watched, she would defend the bad/homicidal/lecherous boyfriend/husband/ex-boyfriend/ex-husband as misunderstood or the victim of bad parenting. Elizabeth knew her sister needed someone, something to cuddle. _Maybe,_ she mused, _I should find that man with the bag of kittens._

Jane's mood lifted a few days later. While still worried about Caroline's advice, she had managed a five-minute phone conversation with Charles. He hadn't mentioned anyone named Sheila. And, as she recounted over the tilapia and Cuban black beans and rice dinner she'd whipped up, she'd just met Will Darcy's cute cousin at work.

"William Darcy's cousin?" Elizabeth thrust a forkful of fish in her mouth to stifle the next thing she wanted to say.

"Yes. Cutest guy. Robin. He's a big outdoorsman, climbs and what's it called? Repels? No. Rappels? Whatever it is when you jump your way down a mountain."

"What was he doing in physical therapy? How did you know he was his cousin?" Elizabeth didn't want to say Darcy's name aloud again. She preferred the distance of pronouns.

Jane's eyes lit up. "Well, I can only say so much. Patient confidentiality."

Elizabeth looked down so Jane wouldn't see her roll her eyes.

"Anyway, he does all this climbing and he hurt his back a few months ago. It had calmed down but then he started flying all over the world for his job and the long plane rides did him in. So when he needed PT, Will told him about me. I'm working on his L4. He wants to avoid surgery as long as he can."

"So he'll be seeing you for a while?"

"At least six weeks. His insurance has given him 18 visits."

Elizabeth burst out laughing. "Insurance? Mr. Richie Rich Banker Guy has to worry about getting it covered by insurance? Give me a break."

Jane shot her a disapproving glance and speared a brussels sprout; Elizabeth grimaced. She despised brussels sprouts. The entire apartment reeked of them and she was pretty sure they were out of air freshener.

"He probably won't need much after that," Jane said. "If I can't help him in 18 visits, he'll need another cortisone shot. Or surgery."

Elizabeth nodded. "Did he mention his cousins?"

"Just Will. He said he's off with his `best girl' for a week."

The last bite of beans and rice clogged in Elizabeth's throat. She grabbed her glass and took a long drink of water. _His best girl?_

Elizabeth was stealthy. She was clever. And she was very intrigued. By the cousin, of course, not by Darcy or this "best girl" he was squiring around.

Two days later, after learning this Robin person had an 11:30 a.m. appointment in the midtown physical-therapy office, she told Jane she'd pick up lunch and stop by.

Elizabeth arrived early and waited by the reception desk. She was not there to see the cousin, she assured herself. She was having lunch with Jane. The front desk assistant told her Jane had finished with her last patient but had taken on a last-minute drop-in for a sick PT. He offered to deliver the lunch to Jane when she finished so Elizabeth could get back to work. Elizabeth nodded and turned away.

"Bookstore Girl? Is that you?"

The wiry guy from the Patagonia store was walking toward her, pulling on his jacket. "Do you remember me? Robert Fitzwilliam?"

Of course she remembered. He'd knocked her over with an errant snowshoe. How often did that happen in Soho?

"Of course I remember you. How'd the snowshoes work out?"

He chuckled. "They went over well, but the most popular present on Christmas morning was inspired by our little meeting." He raised an eyebrow and leaned in. "My aunt was quite enamored with that sexy shades of gray book. She disappeared until dinner."

Elizabeth felt herself slowly turning red.

"TMI? Sorry." He winked at her.

"So are you stalking me or did I hurt your back at the bookstore?" he asked. "There's a great PT here you should use. Jane Bennet. My cousin told me about her. Said his friend used to date her or something. She has wonderful hands, good technique or whatever. I feel great. Too bad she can't date patients."

_Used to date her?_ Elizabeth felt her blush fading and turned white. _Robin, huh?_ "Your cousin is Will Darcy?"

"Yeah. You know him?

"We've met once or twice." Elizabeth paused and took a breath. _He's sending his cousin in to take care of his friend's ex-girlfriend?_ She wanted to ask more questions but she needed to get away from him and his bouncy chirpiness. _Wasn't he supposed to be in pain?_

"How is he?" she asked in an even voice.

"Same old Darcy. Works too hard. At least he's out of town and away from the press for a while."

Elizabeth nodded. A phone chimed and they both reached for their pockets.

Robin smiled and held up his phone. "I think we have a winner. My assistant beckons me for an afternoon of fun. It was great to see you again, Bookstore Girl." He buttoned up his coat. "You know, you never called me."

"Sorry. Holidays and all."

"And I'm not sure you've told me your name," he said as he pushed through the door.

"Elizabeth."

* * *

Darcy stared out the car window. The campuses were starting to blur for him. He and Georgie had already covered RISDE, Syracuse, Princeton, Cornell, Brown, Tufts and Yale. He found the Brown/RISD vibe a little too alternative and Yale's campus a little too memory-laden. The others were less distinct, but it wasn't the fault of the ivy-covered campuses nor the frost covering most of the grounds. He was walking through a fog no matter where he was.

The Delteon deal was dead, and the firm, which had been with Pemberley Funds since Darcy's father co-founded the company, was looking for another bank to broker the deal. Darcy's concerns about due diligence, the thin environmental studies, and the curious omission of safety reports had fallen on deaf ears.

Another heated argument with Ken Whitley had led Darcy to take a leave of absence and re-assess his future with the family firm. Not going to the office every day had been brutal and he'd spent a week pacing his apartment and going over paperwork. He didn't want to think too far into the future. Not his, anyway.

Padding the long President's Day Weekend with a few extra days off school to take Georgie on college visits made perfect sense. They could hit the West Coast later on, but now was their chance to cover her East Coast schools. Their final stop, in Philadelphia to visit Penn, had been a mistake. He knew it the moment they drove past a street sign signaling the turnoff for Meryton.

_Elizabeth._

He'd been trying not to think about her for weeks now. Trying to forget how much he liked being near her and trying to forget how he had turned away from her in the park. He'd never given anyone the cold shoulder in his life. Not even Caroline. But he'd turned his head and ignored her. He didn't even know if she had seen him, or recognized him. He could justify his behavior because of the photographer. But he knew he'd been wrong not to call her. Not that he even had her number. He'd gotten her address—indirectly—from Charles when he was packing for Australia and worried about delivering his Valentine's gift to Jane. Will had overheard him giving Caroline instructions over the phone, and had memorized the address and typed it into his phone.

_Three twenty-four Hunsford Place._

Since he'd returned to town, he'd been diligent about getting in a daily run at the park. He told himself he wasn't going back to the same spot above Iphigene's Walk every day on purpose. But he couldn't pretend he wasn't thrilled to see Elizabeth twice in five days. She didn't see him. She just ran past, focused on the path ahead of her.

Now that he was out of that viper's nest at the office, Will realized he didn't care anymore what headlines he might make by being with Elizabeth. He didn't care what had happened at Anchor & Freres. He didn't care if she was responsible for the Cinderella story in the papers. He needed to see her, to talk to her. Soon.

He had thought he'd feel empty when he walked out of his office, but in the week or so since he'd left he'd realized the only part of him that ached was his heart. He missed Elizabeth and he missed the warm, jumbled feelings she created in him. He'd been scared before, and he had backed away. Now he was nervous. But excited. He couldn't remember ever feeling this way.

* * *

Elizabeth was happy to put off going home on Friday night. Charles hadn't made it back in time for Valentine's Day, and Jane hadn't heard from him in the subsequent four days. The big day for lovers had brought no flowers or pre-ordered candy and cards. Jane had been a hot mess—brave, trying to be optimistic, teary-eyed. Elizabeth's nerves were on edge and a night out sounded great. Perhaps a Friday night at home alone without a shoulder to cry on would be a good thing for her sister. Elizabeth sent Jane a short text explaining a forgotten work commitment and urged her to call Charlotte or Emma or Julia to watch "The Thorn Birds" with her if she was bored. _Or weepy._

When she'd received the email inviting her to join a group from the hospital heading out to celebrate the engagement of two staffers, she was more than game. Everyone at Haven was on edge about the building's future, and she was ready to enjoy herself and forget about Bozo Bingley, Dreadful Darcy and the newest lurking villain, the Weaselly Willoughby.

She stood at the bar and took a deep swallow of her second cosmo. She eyed Lydia dirty-dancing with the new intern. After chewing Lydia out for spying on her and Darcy—and, Elizabeth supposed, tweeting about it—she had completely ignored her. Sadly, Lydia didn't seem to care. She saw the mascara-smeared party girl pointing and heard her shrieking about some starlet dancing with her boyfriend.

Elizabeth put her drink down and rolled her neck. She hadn't been sleeping well, hadn't had any fun for weeks. _Since when does my sister's boyfriend get to screw up my life? _

"You okay, Elizabeth? You've been kind of quiet lately," said a low voice. She turned to see George Wickham perched on the barstool beside her.

"I'm fine, George. Winter blahs." _Go away_, she thought. _Find another lady friend_.

"I'm glad to hear it. That crap in the paper was pretty weird. Somebody made up that shoe story, right?"

When she didn't respond, he nodded and ventured further. "Ohhhh. I didn't realize you knew him so well."

She turned and stared at him. "What's it to you, George?"

George slicked back his blond hair and looked wounded. "I warned you about him, remember? That family is toxic. His father fired my father without cause, used his Wall Street lawyers to destroy him, and smeared his name all over town. He couldn't find another job in New York.

"We had to move to Florida and live with my grandparents," he added mournfully. "In Boca Raton."

_Eeew._ "Senior living?"

"Yeah. I slept on a daybed. Then my parents split up. The whole family was destroyed. And if Darcy ever heard I was in New York, he'd probably ruin me too, just for spite." He looked at her meaningfully. "You never mentioned me, right?"

Elizabeth shook her head. _Dreadful, dastardly Darcy. Sweater Boy._

She felt sick. She didn't want to think.

Mary King danced toward her and pulled Elizabeth onto the crowded dance floor. They twirled around to something loud and jangly and then everyone danced to "Single Ladies." The entire Haven group joined together, arms around one another, to serenade the happy couple with "Wedding Bell Blues." Two songs later, Elizabeth flopped down in a booth, laughing. "That was better than kickboxing!" she yelled.

The strobe light and the camera flashes merged as one. She never saw the flash, and it would be a few days before she saw the picture and the headline.

Elizabeth was in a fog for most of Saturday. She slept late and awoke to an empty apartment and a note from Jane. _At the gym. Late lunch with Susan. See you after 3_. Elizabeth donned her most comfortable yoga pants and a worn Penn sweatshirt and curled up on the couch. Two cups of tea, two Tylenol capsules and a slice of cold pizza later, she felt a little better. She was pondering if Jane's mood might be improving when she heard the knock on the door. She couldn't believe who she saw through the peephole and threw the door open to verify that it was him.

Will Darcy stood in the hallway, a single rose in his hand. "Elizabeth, can I talk to you?"

_So. Robin's back, but Charles isn't. More on Thursday. It won't be pretty._

**Notes:**

Disclaimer: No kittens were harmed in the making of this chapter. I love cats. (The one on my lap just nodded.)

"Splendor in the Grass:" Oscar-winning 1961 film based on William Inge's play about sexual repression in 1920s Kansas. Natalie Wood's breakdown in the bathtub is heartbreaking. And Warren Beatty was a beautiful young man.

The title is based on William Wordsworth's poem, Splendour in the Grass

_What though the radiance  
which was once so bright  
Be now for ever taken from my sight,  
Though nothing can bring back the hour  
Of splendour in the grass,  
of glory in the flower,  
We will grieve not, rather find  
Strength in what remains behind;  
In the primal sympathy  
Which having been must ever be;  
In the soothing thoughts that spring  
Out of human suffering;  
In the faith that looks through death,  
In years that bring the philosophic mind._

Sheila: A colloquialism for a girl or woman in Australia. If only Jane knew that….

"The Thorn Birds:" The steamy 1980s mini-series about repressed love, set across 60 years in Australia and New Zealand, which set the standard for scandalous, bustier-ripping TV back in those wholesome days.

Big Gulps: In his fight against obesity, NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg banned oversized cups of soda in August.

"Always Look on the Bright Side of Life:"  
The sing-a-long from "The Life of Brian."

"Wedding Bell Blues:"The 1967 Laura Nyro song made popular by the Fifth Dimenson. My Barbie used to sing it to my Ken doll.


	12. Chapter 12

_No one likes a Hunsford. But we must carry on through it to reach our HEA. I hope this chapter (and the next) will help answer a few questions, like oh say, just who is Wickham, anyway? And for everyone who wanted to hug Will, please stand at the ready. He'll need it in this chapter. Again, thanks for all the great comments and reviews. FYI, I love writing about "wallowing women." LOL. And to those who worried Darcy screwed up at work? Rest assured, he was the smartest guy at the firm about that deal gone bad._

**Chapter 12**

For twenty minutes, Will paced on the sidewalk in front of the doorway of 324 Hunsford Place, alternately staring at the buzzer with the name "Bennet" printed above it, and stepping back to the curb to look up at the windows. It was a skinny railroad-car building, its faded, blue-painted bricks contrasting with the more gentrified facades on either side. There couldn't be more than a few apartments in it. He wondered if the sisters lived in the one with its windows framed by lace curtains or the one with the heavy shades. He hovered, nervous and excited.

Large snowflakes were just starting to float down around him, but Will didn't notice that his coat was getting damp or his hair was getting wet. He'd raced over here and now what, exactly? _"Hey Elizabeth. Copped your address from Charles. I was in the neighborhood. Thought of you. And I love you."_

No, that wouldn't do. For the past seven years, he'd been sitting in board meetings and presenting projects and business plans but he had no idea what to say to the first woman he'd ever fallen in love with. _God. What am I, sixteen?_ He glanced at the rose clutched in his hand. It was half-frozen. _Decision time. When I see her, it will all make sense._

He rubbed his fingers back and forth across the name plate. _It's a cold Saturday afternoon in February. She'll be home, right?_ He stepped back and lifted his index finger to press the button.

"Hey buddy. Move over, I'm gettin' wet."

Will glanced over his shoulder at a heavyset bearded man struggling with a huge, unwieldy duffel bag. He stepped aside so the man could unlock the door, and held it open as the man struggled inside with his laundry.

"Thanks, dude." The man caught the door before it closed and gave him a once-over. "A rose, huh? You must be that Bingley guy. About time you got back here."

He pulled open the door. "Go on up and surprise her."

Darcy nodded and stepped inside. "Thank you. Er, have a great day."

"Sure, great day if you're inside. Have a nice reunion."

Turned out that the Bennet sisters lived on the third floor. The one with the lace curtains. Will wiped his boots off on the mat in the hallway and knocked.

"Who is it?" her voice called through the door.

_She's home._ "Will. Um, Will Darcy."

He took a deep breath, and felt a frisson of excitement when Elizabeth opened the door. She was barefoot, in yoga pants and a faded, stretched-out Penn sweatshirt. He'd never seen her wearing anything so casual. She looked beautiful and sexy.

"Elizabeth," he choked out. "Can I talk to you?"

Elizabeth, her eyes wide, stared up at him. _Did I wake her up?_

"Please, may I come in and talk to you?"

She took a step back and gestured to him to step inside. "Sure, come on in."

He walked in a few feet. Elizabeth closed the door and walked past him, silently, through the hall. She turned into a small front room. He glanced around, noting plants on the tables and black and white prints on the exposed brick walls. An overstuffed chair and a sofa surrounded a huge coffee table covered in magazines and DVDs. A heavy bookcase bulged with books and boxes of games and puzzles. A bowl of pink and red M&Ms sat on a small table. Elizabeth sat down on the sofa and looked up at Darcy.

"Welcome back."

Still standing, he looked at her, confused, and then he nodded. "Yes, I've been in and out of town a lot since New Year's. Hopefully, I'll be here more from now on." He bit his bottom lip and waited for her response.

Elizabeth said nothing. She glanced at the rose dangling loosely from his fingers. It was wilting in his hand as it warmed. _Why wasn't she saying anything?_

"We-, I mean, I haven't seen you in a while," he stuttered.

"So why are you here now?" Elizabeth asked. She tore her eyes from the rose, which he kept tapping against his leg. "Late Valentine's delivery for someone? Jane's not here."

_Jane?_ Will tilted his head and gave her a small smile. "No. It's not late. It's meant for today. For you."

He held it out to her but she just stared at it and then looked at him.

_She's as overwhelmed as I am,_ Will realized. He leaned over and put the flower on the table, then stepped back. He walked to the window and turned around, staring past Elizabeth at the bookshelf where a pot of lavender sat next to Cranium and Scrabble.

He took a deep breath. "There's a lot going on right now in my life but one thing has been clear to me for a while now," he said. "I didn't understand it for a long time but now I do."

Will looked at her, his gaze heated and impassioned.

"I love you. I want to be with you."

She stared at him, frozen in shock. "You love me?" she gasped. "You don't even know me. We hardly know each other."

"Yes we do," Will said softly. "We haven't spent that much time together, but I know how I feel."

Elizabeth continued to stare him, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

_Is she so shocked I finally figured it out?_

Will stepped toward her, shaking his head. "I do know you, I do," he said urgently.

He sat down on the edge of the coffee table and leaned forward, gripping its edges to channel his nervous energy. "I don't know how you spent your summer vacations or when you had your first kiss or what your favorite song is, but I know you." He smiled at her and shook his head in wonder.

"You're dedicated to your work, and brilliant with people, and incredibly smart. You love your family and good chocolate. You're spirited and funny and you have the most beautiful smile."

Elizabeth was still staring at him, looking stunned. _Was she worried about all the media and paparazzi?_

"You've been fantastic with all the stupid gossip stuff. I mean, even though whoever you told about me returning your shoe spilled the story to the press, that's not your fault," he reassured her. "And whatever happened at Anchor & Freres, you got up and dusted yourself off and now you're doing amazingly important work. None of that matters."

He watched and waited as a wide range of emotions crossed her reddening face.

"Whatever happened?" she muttered.

Elizabeth hurled herself off the sofa at him, her hands chopping the air.

"What the hell do you mean, `none of that matters'?!" she cried. "You know nothing about me! You're just like all of your Wall Street friends!"

She stalked away from him, then whirled around. Her green eyes were almost black with emotion.

"_I_ went to the Mining Commission. _I_ went to the SEC. _I_ turned them in. And the bank turned its back on me. Stuck me in the basement mailroom. `Can't trust a whistleblower.'"

_Oh God._ He stood and moved toward her.

"So I quit and went back to school and found a job I love." Elizabeth blinked and her eyes hardened as he drew nearer. She raised her hand and pushed against his chest. "And I didn't tell anyone about your coming to Haven. No one. One of my so-called `colleagues' saw you and tweeted it to some website. You would have known that if you'd bothered to check with me."

She stormed the few steps over to the window and turned around, her eyes on fire.

"You know me? When's my birthday? What's my favorite color?" Elizabeth shook her head. "You don't even know my phone number, do you?

"You love me but you didn't do a background check? Shocking."

She pointed her finger at him. Will stood motionless, staring into the space between them.

"You don't get to know me! I don't know you and I don't want to. Everything I know about you is just all fucked up.

"From the first night we met, your name has gotten me pulled into gossip columns and made me look like an idiot. And then you say nothing to me about it? You just sit up on the rocks in Central Park and stare at me?"

Will winced and closed his eyes. _Oh no._ He couldn't bear to look any longer at the anger contorting her lovely face. He shook his head ferociously. "No, no, that's not what I meant."

"Oh, really? Well, what did you mean by sending your cousin in to hit on Jane after your best friend dumps her?"

"Charles did what?" He was bewildered. _When did Bingley break up with Jane?_

"When did you decide you loved me? Before or after you ignored me and took off with some other woman? Is that how Darcys treat people?"

She glared at his look of absolute confusion. "Did you learn such callousness from your father? He fired a decent man and ruined his life and now his son quakes in his boots because you might do the same thing to him."

"Who? What?" His brows were knitted and his voice strangled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She stopped and looked at his hands; he was standing in front of the bricked-up fireplace, one white-knuckled hand gripping the mantle.

"And now you're screwing around with some poor miners in Chile?"

Will reeled as though he'd been slapped and took a step back. "Elizabeth, that's not what happened. There's a lot more to that story than what the papers print. You should know that."

"Please go away. Stop being such an idiot just because you have to be a banker. Get over yourself. Get over me. I'm never going to like you, let alone love you."

Will backed away as her words hit him, his lips forming words but his mind unable to supply them. His knee hit the cocktail table and the M&M bowl fell to the floor. The spinning candies ricocheted off the walls and rolled under the furniture. He looked back at Elizabeth, her eyes still full of fire.

"I'm sorry. Um, I…."

"Just leave!"

Head lowered and eyes averted, he headed to the door. "I'm sorry, excuse me. Take care."

Will fumbled with the doorknob and ran down the stairs, nearly stumbling on the last steps. He leaned against the wall in the vestibule and bent his head, breathing hard. _What just happened?_ When he heard a door slam somewhere in the building, he hurried outside.

The snow was coming down hard now. Will scanned the street and was grateful to find it mostly deserted. He put his head down and walked as fast as he could to the corner, desperately searching for a taxi. He wiped at his cheek to brush away a salty snowflake.

* * *

Elizabeth, the woman who owned six watches and couldn't leave the house without one, had no idea how long she'd been sitting at the kitchen table. After Will had left, she'd stood at the window, staring at the swirling snow and trying to figure out what had just happened. He loved her? He thought he knew her? He thought she loved him? But he thought she was talking about him to the press? And that she'd been in cahoots with those jerks at Anchor? Did he really think she had no integrity?

He was the one who'd screwed over Charles and Jane. He was the one who'd screwed over George. And those miners. Okay, she had to admit she didn't really know the details of whatever had happened to George's father and she didn't really like George all that much. But why would he make up a story like that? And that mining deal was sketchy. She'd just skimmed the headlines. But she knew he was connected to Delteon and when PF pulled out, the mining company started laying off miners. And that was wrong. _Typical banker screwing over the little guys._

But she'd never spoken to anyone in her life the way she'd just spoken to him. _To William Darcy. The Fourth. Who loves me. Or thought he did._ But he wasn't a guy who had much experience with love or trust, right? He was as inept with the opposite sex as last year's headlines had said. _Clueless, arrogant and full of assumptions. Not to mention a total headcase if he thought he could show up here and sweep me off my feet after being such a jerk._

It was getting dark in the kitchen. Elizabeth squinted up at the clock. _Four-thirty? Jane would be home any minute._ She needed to clean up the evidence of what had transpired. She didn't need anything to prompt more worries and sadness about Charles and she certainly didn't want to reveal anything about the sad, twisted tale of a stupidly lovelorn William Darcy. Elizabeth slid off her chair, took the dustpan out from under the sink, and walked numbly into the front room. After she swept up every M&M and rose petal from the floor, she dumped the pan into the garbage can. Then she leaned over and pulled out a few petals. They were a beautiful shade of red.

Elizabeth was heading back to the living room to find the rose when she heard the lock turning in the front door.

She grabbed the rose and headed for her room.

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth heard Jane in the hallway, tugging off her boots. She tossed the rose on her dresser, closed the door and leaned against the doorway.

"Hey Jane," she yawned. "Have fun? Buy anything?"

Jane stopped in the hall and held up a small bag. "Brought home my leftover risotto." She looked at her sister and her eyes welled up. "Oh Lizzy. I'm fat! I found the cutest dress at Zina's and I couldn't zip it up! And it was 25% off!"

"Oh Janey. You're not fat."

"Yes I am. I've been eating too much," she sniffed. "Eating too much and feeling sorry for myself."

Elizabeth looked at the floor. She didn't have the energy for this right now.

Jane took a deep breath. "Sorry, I know I'm a drama queen. You must be so tired of it."

She peered closely at Elizabeth in the late afternoon light. "Are you okay? You're really pale."

Elizabeth nodded and shifted to block the light switch on the wall.

"You overdid it last night, didn't you? Can I heat up some soup for you? Do you want the risotto?"

Elizabeth shook her head and hid an involuntary smirk. Jane couldn't help herself, she was just like their mother.

"Oh god. I'm making food into the cure again!" Jane stormed down the hall to her room. "I'm going to go work out."

Elizabeth wanted to protest. The snow wasn't letting up and Jane should probably stay inside. But she really wanted to be alone.

"OK, Jane. Be careful."

"The gym's only two blocks away, Lizzy. It will feel good. And we can finish "Thelma and Louise" afterwards, okay?"

Jane stopped in her doorway. "You sure you don't want to go?"

"No…I think I'll go read." Elizabeth slipped into her room, closed the door and walked the two steps to her bed. It was cramped and cozy in the tiny room, the perfect cocoon for her warring emotions. She crawled under the covers and opened her fist. The petals were crumpled but their scent was powerful. _Some rose. Not your typical bodega bloom. _She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the sting she felt behind the lids.

_He loves me. Loved me. The things I said to him… No. The things he said to me. How could he think those things about me? Misread me like that? Who is William Darcy anyway?_

She thought about the look on his face as he stood in her living room in his winter coat. She couldn't help wondering what kind of sweater he had on underneath it.

* * *

The snowstorm kept Will's cab driver quiet and focused on the slippery streets. He was desperately grateful. A chorus of self-recrimination and Elizabeth's well-deserved anger already filled his head. When he arrived home, his eyes were stinging and his hands were shaking and he'd never been more thankful for the apartment's private elevator. When he was younger, living here with Georgie and his father, he'd thought he could use it to sneak up a girlfriend, but that had never happened. He'd never been brave enough to try it as a teenager—or had much opportunity—and once he became the parental figure to Georgie, he'd hesitated to bring home anyone.

When he did date someone, it was on his terms. In a restaurant, at their place, not here.

Judith had never been here. None of his other girlfriends, such as they were, had either. He hadn't even thought about what it might be like to have someone here, part of his and Georgie's little family, until he had watched his sister interacting with Elizabeth on Game Night. He felt as though he was trying it out, a domesticity he hadn't realized he was missing. Now, he thought, as he burst in the door, he knew. He knew what he was missing. Elizabeth. He'd realized it when he woke up this morning, he'd been trying to ignore it he'd sat on the rocks at the park, and he was sick of pretending it didn't matter.

And now he had to forget about it. Forget her. She didn't like him, didn't trust him. She had never even considered him. And he'd stupidly assumed the worst of her. He'd not only assumed she had told someone about the shoe and his visit to her office, he'd stupidly assumed it even meant anything to her anyway. Of course that girl with all the makeup, the one who had eyeballed him all the way to Elizabeth's office, had been the leak. _Probably got paid for it. God_, he thought. _I'm just a banker. Former banker. Why did anyone even care about my life?_

She doesn't even like me. He wiped his eyes.

How could he have misjudged her so badly? He hadn't mean to imply she'd done anything wrong in her banking career, he'd just meant he was sorry she was caught up in it. But he hadn't managed to say it that way. He'd made it sound like she was a criminal, guilty of something. _No, she wasn't. She was an angel._ Will cringed. _Jane. What had Charles done? What had Robin done? Dammit._ He had to apologize to Elizabeth. Explain he was an idiot, and fix whatever he might have done to upset Jane. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked around, dazed. The elevator had stopped a few minutes ago and he was still standing in it.

He stepped out, pulled off his wet coat and headed for his study. He could forget Elizabeth in there. He'd never dreamt of her while in that room. He'd never fought back fantasies of her in that room. He could go process this disaster in there.

Two hours and too much whiskey later, his head throbbed, his chest hurt, and he was exhausted. And Will realized he had no idea how to process his feelings. He also wasn't quite sure where his sister was so he pulled out his phone. He'd been ignoring its buzzing since he arrived home.

He sat up and stared at the screen. Five messages, three of them from Georgie. She was at a friend's house across the park. It was snowing so hard, she wanted to stay put. He saw all three requests, each more urgent than the last, and texted back his permission.

The other two messages were from Robin.

_Check your email. Now._

Twenty minutes later, he'd sent another one.

_Check your email or I'm coming over there and stomping snow all over your Persians and parquet._

_Now what?_ Will thought. He sat up, clicked on his laptop, and opened his email. There was one from Robin.

Subject line was _WTF?!_

_Do you know who this is? Call me!_

Will clicked on the link. There was a Page 6 photo of Elizabeth with a blond man and another woman.

* * *

**_Lost Another One, Darcy? _**_  
Poor old William Darcy. Guess that stiletto didn't fit Cinderella. Elizabeth Bennet has  
found a new Prince Charming. She was out Friday night partying hard with a wild bunch,  
including hottie George Wickham. Whither Darcy?_

* * *

Whatever effect Will had felt from the alcohol immediately dissipated. _She was dating someone, and I told her I loved her?_

He felt sick. He knew he was going to feel sicker after talking to Robin. He picked up his phone.

"Your Elizabeth Bennet, the woman with the shoe, is my physical therapist's sister?" Robin sputtered. "Why didn't you tell me that? I tried to pick up two sisters in ten minutes."

"You asked them both out?"

"Well, not exactly. Jane said she hadn't heard from Bingley in ages and it seemed like they'd broken up."

_Charles, you're an idiot._

"And then I ran into Elizabeth in the waiting room," Robin said. "Darce, she's the girl I told you about at Christmas. Remember, the one I knocked over with the snowshoes? Bookstore Girl?"

_The one buying that dirty book. He asks her out and I tell her I love her. And she already has a boyfriend. _

_Could this be more screwed up?_

"Uh-huh," he mumbled.

"Your Stiletto Girl is my Bookstore Girl," Robin chuckled. "Can you believe it? But what the hell is she doing with Trevor Wickham's son?"

"Who?" Will's head was starting to pound. He leaned over and grabbed a water bottle from the corner of his desk.

"Your father never told you? Typical." Robin paused. "Wickham worked for Pemberley Funds but your dad lent him to your mother when she started her firm. After—a few months after she died, your father discovered Wickham had been running two sets of books. He'd stolen at least a million dollars from WDIV. Your father fired him. I think he spent a few years in prison."

Will suddenly recalled his conversation with Elizabeth when he'd walked her back to Haven. _"There's a guy here whose father used to work with one of your parents. Do you know a George Wickham?" _

He rubbed his hand over his eyes. _Yeah, it was even more screwed up._

He was foggy, he was emotionally drained, and he felt as though he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

But it was time to start processing. And apologizing. He told Robin he'd call him tomorrow and pulled out a legal pad. He wrote Elizabeth's name at the top and starting to write a numbered list of all the ways in which he'd wronged her.


	13. Chapter 13

_So...we're our in post-Hunsford, revelatory phase. Always so painful for D&E, but yummy for those who love low angst and yearning (like me). Thanks for all the kind reviews; one or two wondered about Will's seemingly sudden desire for domesticity. As he said in the last chapter, it all goes back to Game Night and his epiphany that he was tired of being alone. And right now, he feels very, very alone._

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Georgiana arrived home mid-morning from her sleepover. After setting down her backpack, she headed to the kitchen carrying a Murray's Bagels bag. The teenager took one look at her brother pouring himself a cup of coffee and gasped. He was pale and wearing old sweats and a thick Henley. He hadn't even showered.

"Will, you look awful. Are you sick?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Late night?"

"Kind of. I was working on something and then I didn't sleep very well." He sipped his coffee and eyed the bag Georgie had put on the counter. _Somebody went to the Village._

"I brought bagels. Emma's father picked up extra lox for us too." She sliced a sesame bagel and popped it in the toaster. Leaning back against the counter, she glanced at her brother and the papers he'd scattered on the island.

"Working? You didn't go out?"

Will ignored her.

"Are you growing out your hair, Will? I kinda like it."

He ran a hand over his head and realized the curls he usually kept at bay were emerging. "Do you? Well, don't even think about trying to braid it. I'll get it cut this week." He yawned.

Georgie pulled out a plate and a knife and waited for the toaster to do its job. "Is Robin coming over today to watch the Rangers game?"

Will closed his eyes and tried to decide if he should cancel their regular Sunday meetup. _God, he just wanted to be alone_. "I'll call him and find out. What are you up to? Homework?"

"Ugh, yes. Calculus. French. And I've got to start a paper comparing China's Cultural Revolution with the concept of intelligent design."

He looked at her blankly. "What?"

"It's about the repression of education and intellectualism."

Georgie pulled out the toasted bagel and prepared it for her brother. "We're out of capers. I'll put it on the list for Mrs. Reynolds." She slid the plate in front of Will and glanced down at the papers in front of him.

"Is that Elizabeth Bennet in that pic—?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god."

"Georgie, what is it?" Will's head snapped up and he looked at his sister. She was staring at the Page 6 photo he'd printed out. _Damn, I didn't mean for her to see that._

"Who is that man with Elizabeth?" She leaned over and read the name in the caption. "It says George Wickham?"

"What is it?"

"Will, I swear, that's the guy who said my name right before I fell!"

* * *

Elizabeth stared at the carrot juice Charlotte was sipping. "Char, that looks like something you feed your ferrets."

"Stop harping on Sid and Nancy. You're getting bitter in your old age."

"I am?" _I am. Geez. Maybe that can explain my utter nastiness to Sweater Boy. _

Since she'd rolled out of bed this morning, Elizabeth hadn't stopped thinking about the words she'd exchanged the day before with Darcy. She was jittery and unsettled and had thought a workout would at least give her mind a break from rehashing the emotional carnage of their "conversation." But spinning class with Charlotte hadn't seemed to settle her nerves.

Charlotte held up her glass in a mock toast. "This is the greatest drink after a workout. Clears out the arteries and the mind," she stated. "Did I tell you Willa got me a food dehydrator for Valentine's Day? It's awesome."

Elizabeth managed to swallow the bite of melon in her mouth before commenting, as sincerely as she could, "You're a lucky woman, Charlie."

Surprised, Charlotte looked up. "You haven't called me that in months. Not since Jane started going out with Charles. So, what's up with them?

"Apparently, his shrimp are still on the barbie. He was due back from Australia by Valentine's Day, but she's barely heard from him."

Elizabeth didn't need to look up to hear Charlotte's reaction.

"That dick! He seemed like one of the good ones, but that is really beyond the pale. Men suck."

Elizabeth snickered. "Need I remind you that you have two brothers?"

"They don't count. They're Lucases. Genus Lucaii," Charlotte countered. "Anyway, how's Jane? Your place must be a gloomfest."

_If you only knew._ Elizabeth had awakened this morning with rose petals stuck to her cheeks and her eyes full of gunk from a sleepless teary night. And unlike Jane, she couldn't even vent about her feelings because A.) Will Darcy was Charles Bingley's best friend; B.) no one knew what had happened between her and the aforementioned best friend over the past few weeks; C.) she hadn't finished processing, let alone understanding yesterday's events; and D.) it didn't seem right, it seemed like a betrayal, to talk about him to other people.

_But we're talking about Janey_. "It's been pretty bad," she told Charlotte. "Like I said, you're lucky. You found Willa."

"We found each other," Charlotte corrected her. "She's not perfect, and I'm far from it. But being with her feels right. I finally figured out that I need someone who makes me feel comfortable being myself. Sometimes, that can be enough."

"Somebody you can eat chips with on the couch and watch PBS?"

"Good memory, my dear." Charlotte smiled and took a final swig of her carrot juice. "And now that you've made me all mushy inside thinking about Willa, I'd better get going. Talk to you later this week?"

* * *

_It was all about processing, right?_ Will closed the door. Robin hadn't cared about missing the Rangers game. They'd had too much to discuss. After learning more details from his father this morning, Robin had told Darcy the entire saga of Trevor Wickham. Little was known about his son, George; Trevor had not been exactly a family man but Trey Darcy had overlooked that because he valued his talent with numbers. Apparently, he wasn't just talented, he was easy to trust—and completely unworthy of it. Wickham had taken advantage of Anne Darcy's focus on building her new firm's clientele and parenting two young children to steal close to a million dollars.

Robin had sworn he'd contact a friend on the NYPD to check out George Wickham. He'd thought Georgie should talk to the detective about her memories of her fall, but Will hadn't been sure. It didn't make any sense to him that the son of a fired employee would do something as nonsensical as pushing a teenage girl down a flight of stairs. What was the point?

"Ah, Darce. Don't you ever watch `Law and Order?'" Robin had scoffed. "Sociopaths start small. This guy saw an opportunity to perpetrate evil and he took it without thinking. But it's probably started him thinking bigger." Then he'd stretched out on Darcy's leather couch. "And you say there's nothing educational on TV."

Will had rolled his eyes. Big mistake, because it triggered another pulse of pain in his head. He would need to add this new information to his letter to Elizabeth. If she was dating this guy, or even just friends with him, she should at least know the truth of his connection to his family. Or was that presumptuous? Would she be furious he assumed he had any right to tell her anything? He'd felt his eyes sting and had turned away to wipe them. _She can't be dating him, can she?_

He'd leaned his head back into the soft cushion of his chair and sighed. He was so tired. He ached everywhere.

Suddenly he'd remembered Robin was still in the room, watching him. He'd looked over at his rugged cousin, waiting for the next sarcastic comment. It came quickly.

"So Darcy, you look like hell. Were you actually out having a good time on a Saturday night?"

"No, I stayed in." Will had replied. "But at least I hadn't been spurned by two sisters." _Just the one I love. _Then he'd met his cousin's eyes and asked, "Did you seriously ask them both out?"

Robin had smirked. "No. Neither of them, really. I hinted to Jane that when I wasn't her patient any longer, I'd like to buy her a drink. But she said she was seeing Bingley.

"As for Elizabeth, she didn't even give me her last name. I had no idea they were sisters until I saw the picture. I certainly had no idea she was _your_ Elizabeth Bennet," he'd said with a raised eyebrow. "What's the story with you two?"

Prompted by the Cinderella reference in the photo caption, Will had already told Georgie the entire story of the red high heel. He'd emphasized that he and Elizabeth were just friends. She'd looked doubtful and sad. Robin was going to be a tougher sell. So he hadn't bothered.

"No story. And what there is isn't worth talking about."

Robin had given him a sober look. "Okay. But if there ever is, I hope you'll tell me. I do know when to shut up."

Then he'd stood up and walked to the door. "Will, seriously, when are you coming back to the office?"

"I have no idea."

A few hours later, after a low-key workout on his elliptical and an attempt to down some dinner, Darcy slumped onto the couch. The untouched Sunday _New York Times_ sat on the table in front of him. He was drained. He'd finished the letter. At 5 o'clock, he'd sent the handwritten missive sealed in an envelope, tucked inside a plain manila envelope, to her home with his driver. He'd wanted to deliver it himself, but doing so might mean running into Jane and he didn't want to put Elizabeth in the awkward position of explaining anything to her sister.

He desperately wanted to be alone and go sit in the dark of his study and try to figure out more about what he'd done wrong and how he might still change things. He couldn't get Elizabeth's words out of his head. _"You don't get to know me! I don't know you and I don't want to. Everything I know about you is just all fucked up." _

She was right. He'd failed with her, the only woman he'd ever dared to love. He'd failed to convince his board that he was right about the Delteon deal. He'd even failed to learn enough about his mother's company to know why his father had closed it down. Everything really was fucked up and it was his fault. He felt hollowed out.

But now that his sister's homework was mostly finished, it was movie night. He'd promised last week. It was Georgie's turn to pick, which meant, as always, they'd be watching a love story. He braced for whatever title she was going to force him to endure. Watching "The Notebook" last month had been excruciating, though not as awful as all those other movies about unrequited love.

She walked into the small den carrying a DVD. He groaned. "Beauty and the Beast?' Again? Didn't we watch that last month?"

Georgie shook her head. "No, we haven't seen it since last summer. This is the new Blu-Ray. It's my favorite, Will," she said in her best whiny little sister voice. "Best songs ever."

She popped in the DVD and curled up beside her brother as his eyes glazed over, watching the story of the girl who loved books and the beast who loved her. Which would be worse? If Elizabeth saw him as the arrogant beast who could be redeemed by love or as the officious, conceited Gaston? He closed his eyes.

_"Please go away. Stop being such an idiot just because you have to be a banker. Get over yourself. Get over me. I'm never going to like you, let alone love you."_

He prayed she would read the letter.

* * *

_February 21_

_Elizabeth,_

_Please don't assume this letter is an attempt to re-state my feelings for you or to convince you that we should be together. You made it clear to me today that we should not and that I had assumed too much. _

_I apologize for imposing on you, and putting you in that awkward position. I've made a number of mistakes in how I behaved around you since we met, but the chief one seems to be falling in love with you and erroneously assuming you felt the same._

_But you also made a number of assumptions about me, which I must lay to rest. If my explanations don't serve to make you think better of me, I hope they at least alleviate any concerns you have about how you are seen by me, or by others._

_As to your sister and Charles, I am sorry for any pain he has caused her. While he is my closest friend, he is an undependable correspondent. I have barely communicated with him since he left, but that is not unusual; he was in South America two years ago and added a last-minute side trip to Patagonia to his itinerary. Those unannounced extra four days he was gone sent more than a few people into a panic. I can confide that on this trip, he is under a lot of pressure from the new owners at his agency to secure some long-term contracts. He is understandably nervous about his success. _

_He also is a good and loyal man. When we last spoke, he expressed his deep feelings for Jane and confided plans he had made for them upon his return. He also mentioned he'd asked his sister, Caroline, to oversee a special delivery to Jane for Valentine's Day. I admit I don't know the parameters of Jane's and Caroline's friendship, but if past history serves, I would lay blame for the omission at her door. Charles truly should know better. I've left a message for Caroline, asking about her brother. I will find some way to pass along any good news to you and your sister._

_Again, I cannot say what exactly is the status of your sister's relationship with Charles, but I do know that when he left, he indicated to me that he loved her deeply. If their relationship remains strong, we may be thrown together at events. I give you my word that I will do everything I can to avoid imposing on you or making you feel uncomfortable. _

_I wish that I had been less distracted this past month and could have done Charles' errand for him. So many other issues could have been avoided. I too have been preoccupied at work with the acquisition you mentioned. As you know, I cannot divulge details about the deal nor why it fell apart. I hope it is sufficient explanation that the fine print in fact would have worked against the interests of the miners and their families as well as the area's fragile ecosystem. I have been called obsessive-compulsive by my cousin, and I spent a few too many hours looking at numbers and forecasts. The facts and reasoning behind my opinion on the deal have not been universally acknowledged or applauded._

_You too have had some experience with moral decisions in the workplace. I regret that, by respecting you too much to fully pry into the details of your background, I insulted you, your integrity and your professionalism. I am deeply ashamed that I, who have been subject to so much unfounded press coverage in the past few years, could say such hurtful words to you. Again, I am sorry. I can only blame my eagerness to be with you, and my inept understanding of how to please a woman worthy of being pleased, for such rudeness._

_Similarly, I am an idiot for even imagining that you were somehow responsible for that "Cinderella" story. I've been incapable of talking to anyone about how that hour we spent together at lunch felt to me. It was so wonderful that it, in fact, terrified me and led me to run away from feelings I could not handle. The day I saw you in the park, when I so rudely ignored you, I was wrestling with my feelings for you and dealing with serious work conflicts. There is no excuse for my behavior that day. I ran away. I left town for nearly a week to visit schools with Georgie. When we drove onto the Penn campus, I found clarity and knew I had to see you. Obviously, I was a bit rash._

_One last thing I must tell you. I apologize if you think me presumptuous, but I must pass on a few things I have learned about that man you were with on Friday night. I do not know George Wickham. His father is more familiar, however. Trevor Wickham was fired by my father from my mother's architectural firm shortly after her death. My father discovered Wickham had been embezzling funds from the company. He was prosecuted and spent three years in prison. I know nothing of his son's life or background, but I must tell you this: Last spring, Georgiana had a bad fall at her school and in addition to other injuries, her leg was shattered. As you know, there were surgeries and months of physical therapy. She is completely recovered now, and until last night, had only a vague memory of her fall._

_She caught notice of the photo of you with Wickham and recognized him as the man standing nearby who called out her name just before she fell. She says now he was not just standing nearby, but he actually pushed her. Why? God only knows. We can only be grateful that is all that he did, and until we determine how dangerous he is to my sister, she will be accompanied to school by me, our driver, or a bodyguard. _

_In closing, I admit that I was hurt by your reaction to me yesterday. I also admit I did very little to prepare you for the strength of my feelings. I was barely prepared myself. The moments we have spent together, especially on New Year's Eve and at our subsequent lunch, remain wonderful memories for me. I have never before felt the kind of trust and intimacy I erroneously thought we were establishing. Most people seem to think they know me from what they've read. You just saw me. For that, though you found me wanting, I thank you. I misjudged how well I knew you, and I certainly misjudged how well you knew me. I apologize for my presumption._

_Again, I regret imposing on you yesterday. I hope this letter and its unanticipated delivery don't further upset you. _

_I know you don't want me to love you. I promise not to tell you again._

_Be well, be happy._

_-Will Darcy_

* * *

Mondays were Elizabeth's least favorite day. She always spent part of Sunday gearing up for her busiest workday of meetings and calls and messages from parents frazzled from weekends with their kids—her patients. Dealing with emotionally wrung-out parents and worrying about what regressive behaviors she might see in their kids, _her kids_, was always tough. But today she could barely focus on anyone else's pain. She'd lost most of Sunday to emotional turmoil—and the strain of hiding it from Jane. And after "the letter" had arrived late in the day, she hadn't managed to do any work last night. She'd lost count of how many times she'd read it since yesterday, and she had too much of it committed to memory. His handwriting was lovely, his thoughts were clean and disciplined. How could he write so beautifully when he was hurt and angry?

_"I know you don't want me to love you. I promise not to tell you again."_

What was it a 17-year-old girl in her bulimia recovery group said last year as she regained her healthy self-image?_ "I never knew myself."_

However awkward that sounded, Elizabeth knew it was true of herself as well. The things she'd said to him! No matter what she'd felt about his behaviors—real or imagined-or how off-kilter she'd been thrown by his pronouncement of love—no one deserved what she'd said. He'd spoken words of love and admiration, and she'd thrown back words of hate and disgust. Words she knew were not totally true. And _she_ was the social worker helping young people?_ Hypocrite. Phony. Loser_.

His letter had made her cry. She hadn't thought she had any more tears left. She'd even had to change her pillowcase. _He apologized to me? Over and over?_

Now, sitting at her desk, she opened up the letter and started reading it again. She'd read it at least a dozen times since their buzzer had sounded late yesterday afternoon and she'd gone downstairs to accept a delivery from a nicely dressed man who introduced himself as Javier, the Darcys' driver.

Jane had watched her all day. Elizabeth knew she'd seen the rose petals and the M&Ms in the garbage can, but Jane hadn't said a word. She'd quietly accepted Elizabeth's explanation of the envelope as paperwork for a new patient. While Jane had gone off to her room with her laptop to finish a "Mad Men" marathon, Elizabeth had put on her flannel pajamas and curled up in her bed with the letter and a cup of tea.

She couldn't understand how she had led him to believe she was interested. Had she done it by accident, or had she really led him on, deliberately? Was it as simple as having lunch with him? Or when he'd leaned toward her at Haven and she hadn't pulled away? Was he so lonely any woman could have taken her place?

She'd tried to refuse his ride on New Year's Eve. She'd only gone to lunch because she felt she'd owed him that for the ride, and the shoe. _Right?_ And maybe she'd owed him for the coffee, and the hospitality at his home on Game Night. He had been nice to her, almost from the moment they met. He was uncomfortable at times, and very quiet at others, but until he'd given her the cold shoulder in Central Park, he hadn't really been rude since that Thai dinner. But they'd only been together on a handful of occasions. _How did I give him the impression I was interested? I was only nice at first because of Jane and Charles. Does it seem like I did it on purpose?_

Then she was angry at him for being so stupid as to misread her. _No wonder he lost that stupid deal, he cannot read a room let alone a woman._

Realizations kept hitting. _He put himself out there with me. After being burned so badly, in public, by the last woman he seemed to care about_. She ached with the pain of her feelings, realizing the pain she had caused him.

_"I'm never going to like you, let alone love you." _Even if she didn't share his feelings, she was an awful person to tell him that.

And now, as this dreadful Monday dragged on, she alternated between focusing on her work and staring at the deep grooves and swirls her last patient had dug into her sand zen garden. She willed herself not to pull out the letter again. She'd already thought about its contents far too much.

When 2:30 rolled around, accompanied as usual by low blood sugar and a craving for something sweet, Elizabeth emerged from her office and headed for the elevator. She hoped not to run into Wickham and swore to dismiss him if she did. Her initial instincts about him had been proven correct, and she worried only for Georgie and Mary King. She returned from the ground-floor vending machine with a white chocolate Luna bar and a cup of green tea. Stepping out of the elevator, she noticed Mary and a few other women talking over by the staff bulletin board. Newspaper stories on the city's foot-dragging discussions about Haven's future often were posted there to discourage disparaging email chatter on work computers. _More bad news?_ Elizabeth wondered. Eager for a distraction, she checked her watch and headed over to her coworkers.

Mary and Selina Hawkins were laughing quietly while two nurses, Vicki and Juanita, spoke in hushed tones. They quieted as Elizabeth approached.

"Hey guys. What's up?"

Selina pointed at a clipping on the bulletin board. Elizabeth looked up, moved closer and stared at her own laughing visage. _Oh my god. When was that taken? _She looked wild, squeezed between George, Mary, Lydia and some blonde she'd never seen before.

_The engagement party. Friday night_. She scanned the caption and felt her chest constrict. "_Lost another one, Darcy?" Oh, no! _

"Cinderella?" Selina said. "What's the story, Liz? Did you really go out with that rich dude?"

Elizabeth looked around at the group. Mary was watching her, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"No." She was grasping for an answer. "We're just friends. My sister dated his friend." _How am I in a tabloid, again? Why? Has he seen it? Oh, let's just twist that knife I stuck in his heart._

"Then what's the deal with the shoe?" Juanita asked.

"Elizabeth went home with Darcy from a New Year's Eve party," Mary said. "She left a shoe behind and he gave it back to her here over a long lunch."

Elizabeth gaped at Mary as she went on. "That story was all over Twitter. Lydia saw him here in black Brioni, and she says he is smoking hot. According to her," Mary put up her fingers and pantomimed quotation marks, `I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.'"

"Mary, for God's sake! Stop it," Elizabeth cried. "I didn't go home with him. He gave me a ride to Columbus Circle. And why are you quoting Lydia Morrissey, of all people?!"

Selina gave them a tight smile. "That girl is all mouth. Literally. I hope she uses Listerine." She gave Elizabeth's arm a gentle squeeze. "Don't let the vultures get to you, sweetie. Be strong, like Elizabeth Taylor."

Elizabeth winced. _My namesake._ _If you only knew._

Vicki and Juanita wandered off, loudly discussing their daughters' Disney favorite princesses.

_Ariel was not a princess_, Elizabeth thought. _She was stupid, sheltered teenage mermaid who gave up everything—her voice, her tail, her undersea family—for a lunk of a guy she barely knew._

Mary's voice interrupted her angry musings. "Lizzy, I know Lydia is full of it."

Elizabeth looked at the petite blonde. She looked drawn and tired. "Mary, what's wrong?"

"I think George is fooling around with Lydia," Mary said quietly. "I don't know, I just have this vibe when they're in the same room. And that picture? It just ticks me off."

Elizabeth nodded and bit back a scathing comment about George. "I understand. Lydia is just…not somebody I trust. Or even like, really. But she and George?"

She put her arm around Mary. "He seems smarter than that to me."

"Oh, Lizzy. All men think with their lil' diddly brains," Mary said, shaking her head. "Except maybe Darcy. He was on the Hot! (and Smart) list a couple of years ago, right? And then something happened with his girlfriend, right? She cheated and said some nasty things about him?"

Elizabeth stood still, saying nothing. _Wow,_ _Jane's right. Everyone follows this crap._

"So, was she right? He wasn't into her? Or anybody?" Mary frowned. "George has talked about it. But he talks smack about a lot of people, so I'm never quite…." She trailed off.

"And you two aren't a thing?" Mary peered at Elizabeth, who shook her head slightly.

"Too bad. He might be the perfect man," Mary said. "Thinks with his big brain and keeps it in his pants. Lydia is right about one thing," she added with a shrug. "From the pictures I've seen, Will Darcy is pretty yummy."

That night, Elizabeth curled up in bed with a legal pad. She needed to write him a letter. Or at least a note. She'd make a list and figure out what to say and then re-write it on a card. He deserved her thoughts in longhand. If he could do it, so could she. And she could dress it up with a card. For Christmas, Charlotte had given her a beautiful box of blank cards from the Met's collection. A Vermeer or a Turner or a Caillebotte, perhaps? Something real and straightforward. No murky Impressionists or confusing Surrealists.

_Oh, what must he think of me? Will he even want to read this?_ She groaned, thinking back on all the times she'd been in his company since they'd met_. I go from accusing him of getting beer and vomit on me to throwing him out of my apartment._ `_Saved from another guy who sucks in bed_.' Elizabeth threw herself back against the pillows. _What is wrong with me?_

_"I know you don't want me to love you. I promise not to tell you again."_

Did he still love her? She couldn't get his words out of her head.


	14. Chapter 14

_We're a bit Darcy-lite this post, but we're down to only one wallowing woman! OK, and one wallowing man. But he is so cute._

**Chapter 14 **

Elizabeth was just old enough to remember life before cable TV, when the local Meryton stations went off the air at midnight after playing the national anthem and then the screen's picture would dissolve into a semi-comforting, semi-terrifying fuzzy static snowstorm.

Now, up late most nights because her mind wouldn't shut down, she found herself missing the message that static snowstorm had implied: "Go to bed! Read a book! Quit thinking and wasting your time!" In this modern era, she could stare at QVC personalities selling face creams and shoe expanders, or classic old movie channels, or reruns of screechy sitcoms, or talk shows ranging from the comically crass to the politically loud.

The televised cacophony was no antidote to the swirl going on in her overworked brain. It had taken her two nights to figure out what to say to William Darcy. Balls of crumpled yellow legal paper filled her wastebasket and she'd gotten ink on her favorite cardigan. But she had, finally, managed to write a coherent apology to Will and affirm his character. There was much more that she couldn't address. That last line.

_"I know you don't want me to love you. I promise not to tell you again."_

How was she supposed to deal with that? She already felt awful but his words made her feel worse. Had he meant to do that? Was he manipulating her? No. She couldn't accuse him of that. His feelings were so raw, and his words were heartfelt if a bit naive. He'd put himself in an impossibly vulnerable position with her. She, on the other hand, had simply put herself in an impossible position. She had to apologize for her outburst, and let him know she appreciated that he would respect her wishes and leave her alone. Or something like that.

_February 23_

_Will,_

_I don't imagine that anything I write here can make up for the way I spoke to you or the words I said or the way I acted the other night. I will say it simply: I'm sorry._

_You came to see me and said words I never anticipated but which you thought I would welcome. I cannot excuse my shock but I can apologize for my unwarranted and overly emotional reaction. I am ashamed of myself._

_I never meant to encourage your feelings. You are a kind, smart man; a wonderful brother; and a good friend to Charles. I saw those things in you but I didn't see that you viewed me as anything beyond a woman with whom you shared a few hours and some interesting conversations over two months. I'm sorry that I misunderstood your feelings or led you into thinking there was anything more between us. I never meant to hurt you._

_I regret expressing anger over topics and people that have nothing to do with me: Charles, George Wickham, and your business dealings._

_Please don't apologize for Charles. He's a grown man, and you are not responsible for his neglectful behavior toward my sister. I thought he cared as deeply for Jane as she does for him, but that is their business to work out. Not yours, not mine._

_Poor Georgiana! She is such a lovely girl. I'm horrified that I ever raised any word in Wickham's defense. He has always made me uncomfortable but I've overlooked it as he is dating a colleague. I will keep my distance and keep my eyes open. I know you'll keep your sister safe. Thank you for telling me._

_You, like most people, are unfamiliar with the entire story of what happened at Anchor & Freres. While I remain angry at what occurred and disappointed you would assume I was in any way culpable, I realize that I did much the same with you and the Delteon deal. Mining, and the treatment of mineworkers, is a sore topic with me and as a result, I overreacted to what you said. My family has some connection with the mining industry, and I jumped to conclusions on the barest of information and my own feelings about bankers. I was wrong and I apologize._

_In sum, we both made mistakes about the other. I insulted you the first night we met, but I promise I will not let past assumptions and mistakes interfere should we meet again. It's best to forget the past and look to the future. I regret I made that effort so very necessary for us._

_Sincerely,_

_Elizabeth_

Elizabeth sealed the envelope and, after mulling over her options, wrote his home address on it. She hesitated and then printed "Personal" below the address. She didn't have a driver, but she had a stamp. It wasn't her best work, and it lacked the flowery beauty of his words, but he was expressing regret through the pain of love; she was apologizing for causing him pain. Just the facts, right? Time to move on. It's better to remember the past only as it makes us happy. After all, Charles was still incommunicado, Caroline was marked for death, and William Darcy was undoubtedly ready to forget he had ever met Elizabeth Bennet.

_"You're dedicated to your work, and brilliant with people, and incredibly smart. You love your family and good chocolate. You're spirited and funny and you have the most beautiful smile."_

She wasn't going to forget him anytime soon. How could she forget the most beautiful compliments any man had ever given her?

* * *

"Caroline, when did you last speak with Charles?"

Darcy spoke crisply and coldly. He should have called a week ago to check on his friend; he'd just assumed Charles was spending his free time in Australia chatting with his girlfriend. He'd had no idea of the breakdown in communication.

"William, do come in," Caroline purred. "Where have you been? I just got back from Ibarra. The sun was so lovely." She put her hand on his arm and pulled him closer. "You look so tired. Come inside and warm up."

Will stood steady in the doorway of her Midtown building, staring at the golden woman before him. He was trying to focus on his anger and impatience, but for all his travels, he'd never seen a human being with this particular skin tone. She literally glowed through her low-cut, white button-down blouse. The memory of an Austin Powers movie flashed through his brain, one he remembered laughing at with Charles back in boarding school. He shook it off when he heard the ding of the elevator doors down the hall. Wishing for privacy, he stepped into the apartment and closed the door.

"Let me take your coat," Caroline said, smiling too brightly for his tastes. He stood still and put his hands in his coat pockets.

"When did you last speak with Charles?"

"Um, let's see." Caroline dropped her hand from his arm and put both hands on her hips. Her tight blouse stretched across her breasts, making it clear she'd been enjoying herself on topless beach. Will averted his eyes.

"About a week after he left. And then again about a week later."

"Before Valentine's Day?"

"Yes." She gazed at Will, and seemed to be affecting a blush. It was hard to decipher the color scheme. Her hand once again snaked toward him and he shifted his weight away from her. "Were you in the city on Valentine's Day, Will?"

"Where's Jane's gift?"

Caroline's hand froze and she lowered her eyes to his chest.

"Caroline, look at me. Your brother asked you to help him. He asked you to deliver Jane's Valentine's Day gift. But you didn't, did you?"

"It was complicated…"

"No. It wasn't. He just needed you to messenger it to her on Valentine's Day and send her flowers from his florist. Your florist. How was that complicated?"

"I was so overwhelmed…"

"Oh yes, your brother is so demanding. Two phone calls. A word to your doorman. And you couldn't handle that?"

Caroline's bottom lip was quivering and Will thought he might have actually driven her to tears. That would be a first. But then her top lip curled upward into a sneer.

"What would you know about it? Like you're some success story in the romance department? You go shack up with Elizabeth Bennet on New Year's and now she's out partying with some surfer. `Poor Darcy, screwed over again!'"

Caroline stared at him, shaking with anger and jealousy. "Will, you keep making the same mistake over and over. You choose the wrong women.

"It's bad enough my brother got taken in by those coal miners' daughters," she cried, grabbing the lapels on Will's overcoat and leaning forward. "How could you lower yourself—?"

"Take your hands off me, now." Will spat at her, his voice, low and cold. "You sad, pitiful woman. How dare you insult Jane and Elizabeth? They outshine you by every imaginable measure."

Will took a steadying breath, trying so hard not to lash out again in anger. "Go get the gift you were supposed to deliver to Jane. Now."

Caroline, her face pale underneath the bottled golden-orange hue, hissed, "Dammit, you're both fools." She spun on her heel and stomped down the hall to a closet. She reached in, pulled down a large box and threw it at Darcy. He jumped forward to catch it. To his relief, it was light and nothing rattled inside.

"Are you happy now?!" she screeched.

"Oh, you have no idea." And he was gone, intent on delivering the gift as soon as he could.

* * *

Nothing could strike fear into the hearts of the Bennet sisters more than a ringing phone at 4:30 a.m. Both of them usually left their phones charging in the kitchen, but the apartment's small size allowed them to hear their familiar ringtones. Elizabeth lifted her head off her pillow and listened. It was the Supremes. Jane's. She listened to her sister shuffle down the hall, followed by a muted "Hello."

Elizabeth was back asleep within seconds.

Less than an hour later, she was awakened by her sister squealing. "He's back! Oh Lizzy, Charles is home!" Blearily, she rolled over to see the flushed, excited face of a wound-up happy Jane.

Over coffee, she listened as Jane recounted what had been her longest conversation with her boyfriend since he'd left for Australia in late January. Elizabeth was drowsy so she missed some of the early highlights, but as a cup of the strong Italian roast kicked in, she was able to focus on the epic tale of Charles and his poorly working phone and its ultimate demise somewhere around the Great Barrier Reef.

After two weeks of fitful phone and Internet service, the true villain of the story appeared to be Charles' new boss. "He showed up unannounced, just as they were wrapping up their contracts. He'd planned a mandatory diving trip. Mandatory, Lizzy, for team bonding. Can you imagine?" Jane cried.

"He switched out their Los Angeles-to-New York tickets by a week, chartered a plane and a boat, and arranged tours and instructors. Charles couldn't say no," Jane insisted. She shook her head sadly. "Poor sweet Charlie lost his phone within ten minutes of getting there." And there, Elizabeth deduced, went all of his contacts and phone numbers.

"You see, Lizzy? He didn't forget me, and now he's home."

In fact, Charles was coming for dinner that night. He'd told Jane how much he missed her home-cooked meals. Elizabeth told Jane she'd run home after work for a quick change of clothes and then head off to the Lucas Gallery. Better a reunion without an audience, particularly one composed of a pissed-off sister who'd had to listen to Jane's whining for nearly three weeks while dealing with her own emotional upheavals.

The next night, Charles arrived at their apartment door, tanned and smiling, his hair sun-bleached but his eyes shadowed from exhaustion. Elizabeth gave him a quick hug and whispered in his ear, "Don't ever mess with my sister again, Charles. She's too special."

He nodded. "I know, Liz, I know. Darcy said exactly the same thing to me."

Elizabeth assumed she'd be able to hear Charles' story in her kitchen the next morning, so she excused herself and headed to the gallery; she'd put off seeing their latest show long enough. She was sure Jane would fall weeping into Charles' arms and they'd whisper sweet endearments into each other's ears all night.

So she spent more time than she wished to wandering around with a glass of wine and staring at monochromatic canvases and unspeakable sculptures. The better show was going on back at her apartment, but she had a kind of mordant fun leaning back against a bare wall and watching John with his latest e-date. He looked happy, and the woman—Priya—seemed cheerful and smart. Two peas in a pod, she mused, reaching toward a passing tray for another glass of wine.

_"I love you. I want to be with you…We haven't spent that much time together, but I know how I feel."_

She froze, her hand in mid-air as Will's words burst into her mind. _Oh god. Make it stop. I screwed up. He screwed up. He is a much better man than I ever knew. Just let it go_.

Charlotte approached her. "Going for another one, Liz?"

"Ah, no." Elizabeth cleared her throat. "I'd better stay clear-headed. I need to go home soon. Charles is back, and they're at our place, talking."

Stifling a chuckle, Charlotte instead let out a low whistle. "Did you put away the knives and Precious Moments figurines?"

Charlotte's mother was a great collector of the small plaster keepsake statuettes and had never forgiven her children for a squabble that resulted in one of her favorites—a little boy fishing with his cocker spaniel—shattering on the floor.

"I think our valuables are safe," Elizabeth replied. No M&Ms will be harmed in the repair of this relationship. "She's happy he's back, and he has a story. We'll see."

"You okay?"

Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte. "Sure. Why do you ask?"

"Let's see. You've been here for two hours and spent most of it leaning against the wall or sitting at my desk looking like your mind was a million miles away."

Elizabeth frowned. "Perhaps I was just riveted by the colorful pastiche of camouflage-covered phallic sculpture and Keith Haring-inspired macramé."

Charlotte folded her arms and looked over the red cat-eye glasses she'd adopted for the evening. "Say what you will. It's a huge hit. Our foot traffic is incredible."

A couple holding hands, their voices hushed and their eyes intent on each other, drifted by. "You need a man, Liz."

Elizabeth's eyes shot over to Charlotte. "What?"

"You've had your picture on gossip sites with two hot guys. Why aren't you dating one of them?"

Elizabeth remained silent. She was on the verge of spilling her guts to her best friend, even though this was neither the time nor the place for it. But she was weak, and tired, and she was more affected by the return of her sister's wayward boyfriend than she'd realized. So she confessed a little.

"One of them is already taken—and he's a pig, anyway. And the other is way too complicated and overwhelming. I can't imagine it."

"You should try. Beyond being tall, rich and handsome, he seems really nice. He rocks cashmere sweaters. And he seems to like you a lot."

Elizabeth bit her lip. She felt warring flashes of annoyance and melancholy.

_"I've made a number of mistakes in how I behaved around you since we met, but the chief one seems to be falling in love with you and erroneously assuming you felt the same."_

"Char, I know. But I don't like him back."

"What? Why? Did something happen? When?" Charlotte leaned closer, looking stunned.

_A powerful man made himself completely vulnerable to me and I yelled at him. God_, she thought, not for the first time, _was I the first woman he'd even tried connecting with since that debacle last year?_

_This is not the place to cry_, Elizabeth reminded herself as she scanned the gallery. Small groups were gathered around the artworks and no one was within 15 feet of her and Charlotte.

"Oh, he loves me. Adores me. Forgives me for all my transgressions in the press and at Anchor."

The ever-loquacious Charlotte stood, frozen, her mouth open.

"And I told him to take a hike," Elizabeth whispered. "And a few other things. And now I feel like shit."

She stared at the floor, remembering the devastated look on his face when the M&Ms were spinning all over the floor.

Charlotte shook off her stupor and grabbed Elizabeth's hand, squeezing it as she spoke in a hushed voice.

"Are you insane? That's it? Lizzy, I've seen how he looks at you. I've listened to you two banter. And you shut him down because he was clueless about your past?"

"Char, he's a banker. He assumed I was fired. Or guilty of what those assholes did. Me! I left because those two were criminals! You know what they were doing!"

Charlotte looked at her seriously. "I know. And you got them fired and indicted. But unless you want your name widely known, it always will be a mystery whistleblower who got them caught. He didn't know, Liz.

"Look, so he's a banker," she went on. "I know you hate that whole world. But that's an excuse, not a reason. Didn't his sister fall at school? Wasn't she in the hospital? Shouldn't he despise all teachers, nurses, doctors and social workers?"

"Excuse me? Do you work here?" A woman in a silver jacket and black beret stood behind them, holding a brochure. "I have a couple of questions about that one." She pointed at a fuzzy spiral, covered in wire and knives, hanging behind them.

"Of course, I'll be right there," Charlotte smiled. She turned to Elizabeth and whispered, "We have to talk. But you need to figure out what you really know about him, and why you're fighting so damn hard to dislike him."

Charlotte walked away and left Elizabeth staring at the floor. A few minutes later, Jane texted her. _It's safe to come home, he's gone._

_Wow_, Elizabeth thought. _No welcome back nooky?_ She waved her goodbyes and headed off, unsure what to expect at home. Jane was calm, almost serene, as she told her sister about the evening. She and Charles had talked, eaten chicken piccata, and talked some more. It turned out, Jane said, that their lack of communication was all Caroline's fault. Or at least partly.

"I'm terrible with numbers," he'd told Jane. "They're all in my cell. The only one I can remember for sure is our old apartment, where Caroline lives. After I lost my phone, I called her from the hotel and asked her to get in touch with you. She knew how to because she's the one who made sure you got your Valentine's Day gift," he'd added, sporting a soft smile.

He'd looked at Jane, his eyes widening at her expression and then narrowing as he realized what had— and had not—happened in his absence.

"Oh no. I am going to kill her," he'd said.

Jane said she'd put her hand on his arm. "Get in line behind Lizzy." She'd smiled at him and added, "The gift arrived yesterday. Darcy sent it over. And the earrings are lovely."

She'd told him about her lunch with Caroline and her fear of losing him to "Sheila." She'd blushed when she'd confessed that Elizabeth had had to explain just what a Sheila was, and that she'd warned Jane not to trust Caroline. "She said your sister had said some nasty things to her at the New Year's party."

Charles had nodded ruefully. He'd confessed his worries about asking Caroline for her help, but with Darcy off traveling, his assistant on maternity leave, and Louisa having caught the flu right before he left, he hadn't know where else to turn. "Next time," he told Jane, "I'll ask your sister."

* * *

As the early March thaw went on, Elizabeth found herself keeping her eyes open when she was running in the park or walking to work. She wasn't hoping to see Will, she assured herself. She just wanted to avoid him. And she wanted to know if he'd read her card and what he thought of it and if he had forgiven her for her hatefulness.

Work was crazy and for the first time in ages she was reading the Times' business section, checking for updates on the future of Haven and any news she could find about Willoughby's intentions. Phil told her to pencil in a meeting later in the month; it would be their last chance to talk to the Landmarks Preservation board.

She'd read a little news about Will. A small article in the paper noted he'd left the bank, and the columnist alluded to him being pushed out. She felt another pang of regret. What had happened to him since the last time she saw him? He'd rescued Jane's gift from Caroline—an act which Elizabeth thought gracious and kind but which she tried not to think on too much. He'd been traveling. And he'd left his family's bank? Was this because of her and the awful things she'd said?

A few days later, while Jane was changing, Elizabeth asked Charles about Georgiana and her brother. He said he'd seen them both a week ago and had given Georgie bottles of sand from various Australian beaches. "She collects sand from every oceanfront, and Mrs. Reynolds collects shells. I brought her a conch," he laughed.

"Will thought the kangaroo-leather belt I bought him was silly but he liked that I gave a didgeridoo to Caroline. We both had some ideas on where she should stick it."

Elizabeth giggled. The sound seemed foreign to her ears.

"It made him laugh too," Charles said. "He's really down. The bank stuff, I guess."

Charles, still tan and with the dark circles under his eyes fading away, chuckled. He didn't see the guilty shadow that crossed Elizabeth's face.

"And you should know he really ripped me a new one too. He didn't tell me about what Caroline did. He made her tell me. He'd already yelled at her about Valentine's Day, and he told me I didn't deserve Jane. I deserve a statue called `World's Worst Boyfriend.'

"He's right, you know. I screwed up. But I will make sure Jane knows what she means to me."

Charles' eyes drifted over to the couch. Still sitting there, more than a week after Darcy had had it delivered, was a stuffed white bear sporting a red velvet heart on its chest, its paws clutching an empty jeweled bag. "She loved the earrings, didn't she?" he sighed. "They look so beautiful on her."

Darcy's innate goodness. Elizabeth hadn't forgotten the buzzer, and the familiar face of Javier, Darcy's driver, when she'd gone downstairs. He'd said hello and handed her a large, lightweight box. _He read my card. He's reaching back to me_. Her heart had leapt and she'd nervously thanked him.

"Miss? It's for Miss Jane Bennet. From Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy intercepted it from the intended deliverer."

Elizabeth had managed to smile and thank him and had walked back upstairs. Charles hadn't forgotten her sister, after all. Damn these sweet, romantic following week, the sisters were taking turns in the bathroom, getting ready for a cocktail party at the Hursts' apartment. Elizabeth, leaning in the doorway, was nervous. Darcy would probably be there. She still had no idea if he'd read her card or tossed it in the fireplace. The Hursts were not her friends. Louisa was Charles' sister and her husband was Will's friend. That meant Will might be there. Jane told her Marty had insisted she come. He'd so enjoyed Elizabeth's competitive spirit on Game Night.

She'd finally decided it was important to support Jane as she waded into any viper pit where Caroline Bingley might dwell—even if she still wasn't clear on Jane's feelings for her newly returned boyfriend. They were dating, but not as intimately as before; Jane slept alone in her bed every night.

"Jane, what's going on with you guys? Have you forgiven him? Not to be devil's advocate, but I was here the whole time. Charles was gone for more than three weeks and in that time, you two talked what, six times?"

Jane met Lizzy's eyes in the mirror. She pulled back her hair into a ponytail and began twirling it into a bun. "Lizzy, you can't quantify feeling based on number of dates, or number of flowers or gifts," she said. "But I do think that the number of times a day I think about him, or the number of plans he has for us, and the number of times he has apologized, does count for something."

She tucked a few wisps of her dark red hair behind her ears and reached for her silver and ruby heart earrings. "Does all that add up to love? I don't know," she said softly. But I'm willing to find out."

"But Janey, can you trust him?"

Turning around, Jane crossed her arms and leaned against the sink. "You know how I love washing the dishes and doing laundry because I can see a problem and solve it and see the difference right away? No six-week course of treatment. No fighting with insurance companies over how many more visits they will cover.

"This isn't a quick fix like a dirty window," Jane added. "I'm being careful. And I'm willing to be very patient and enjoy being with Charles and see what it adds up to…eventually."

Jane stepped past her sister and headed back to her bedroom. "Oh, and Lizzy?" She turned around, a blush on her cheeks, "I'm staying over at his place tonight."

Elizabeth ducked her head and smiled. Three weeks of listening to her sister whine and mope and pick out movies, and it turns out Jane's got a handle on the whole relationship thing? Amazing. And who was Elizabeth to judge? She hadn't dated anyone since last year, hadn't trusted herself to care enough to do so, and had broken at least one heart, horribly and possibly irreparably, along the way.

She still wondered at Will's vulnerability to her "charms." What had he seen in her that he hadn't found in another woman, one more likely to love him back and enjoy the world in which he lived? He said she "saw him," while other people did not.

What had she seen? Had she recognized that he was the kind of man who—alerted to a Valentine's Day oversight—would swoop in, face down the orange dragon lady, and save the day? Thinking about it made her smile. Maybe tonight she'd have a chance to thank him.

Her hopes were dashed within the first half-hour of arriving at the Hursts' Park Slope townhouse. Elizabeth was audience to Caroline's "apology" to Jane.

"Oh Jane, I was so overwhelmed with work and planning for my buying trip. And I was all alone for Valentine's so I was trying to forget about it, and I ended up neglecting you!"

Caroline pressed her hands to her heart and looked mournfully at her brother's girlfriend. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Jane smiled. "It's fine. Charles is home and Will made sure I had my boyfriend's present before he came home."

Charles gave his sister a stern look, and took Jane's hand.

"Wonderful," Caroline said. She turned and appraised Elizabeth. "Oh, Eliza," she purred. "Did you remember to wear two shoes tonight? Or pack extras?"

Before Elizabeth could respond, the viper had already turned her attention to her brother and the topic closest to her heart.

"Charles, where is Darcy?" Caroline whined. "I thought he'd be here."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Not to see you, dear sister."

Caroline stalked off to find friendlier companions.

Elizabeth caught Charles' eye and pursued Caroline's line of questioning. "Why isn't Will here? I think Jane wanted to thank him for getting the gift out of your sister's house."

Chuckling, he replied, "You mean out of Caroline's clutches? Jane can thank him later. I'm not sure if he's back yet. He's been traveling. In the Midwest."

"Is he looking at schools with Georgie?"

"No—it's work. He's in Iowa of all places," Charles said in wonder. "I've been to Chicago and Detroit, but everything else out there is flyover country for me."

She wanted to laugh at the man's marveling at the exotic wilds of the Plains states, but he was so sincere in his wonderment, Elizabeth gave him a pass.

Iowa? She recalled Will had been talking about Iowa with Robert at the museum. Why on earth would he be out there? It wasn't her business to puzzle out, Elizabeth reminded herself. She'd thrown Will Darcy out her door two weeks ago and he'd moved on. She took a deep breath and headed over to greet her hosts. She was going to ignore her own problems, including Caroline, and make a go of the evening.

Within the hour, the reason for the party became clear when Marty and Louisa, arms linked, raised glasses of ginger ale to the baby they were expecting in seven months.

"To our sweet September baby!" Marty cried.

"But conceived on New Year's Eve," giggled his blushing wife.

Champagne glasses filled with tufts of pink and blue cotton candy were being passed around the room when Darcy walked in, a bottle of Marty's favorite vodka in hand. He smiled, a twinge of sadness limning his happiness for once again being witness to another friend's joy.

His smile fading, Will looked around for Bingley and spotted him feeding Jane a bit of pink fluff. Behind them he saw Caroline, looking pinched both in her cocktail dress and in her mood. He stepped back to stay out of her view. When he turned, he saw Elizabeth, talking with Marty's brother, Michael. He stood, frozen, watching her. She was smiling, looking animated and happy. Her eyes didn't look dull, they were sparkling. He couldn't detect any circles underneath them or any sadness about her. She was fine, untouched, not thinking of him as he did, endlessly, of her.

He needed to leave before she saw him. He couldn't deal with Elizabeth Bennet right now. Will looked around for a table. He put down the bottle next to a bowl of pink and blue M&Ms and walked out the door.

Notes:

_Vermeer's "A Maid Asleep" is the card Elizabeth used to write her thoughts to Darcy_

_"Stop! In the Name of Love" is Jane's ringtone. Obviously. Raise your hand if you ever sang and danced to the Supremes at slumber parties!_


	15. Chapter 15

_This chapter is one of my favorites. It resolves some of last chapter's cliffhanger, explains the attraction of Iowa, and includes more counting, some make-up tips, and a bit of closure for one character. Oh-and guess which characters have a conversation? ;) Thanks to everyone for their encouragement and kind words. _

**Chapter 15**

Somehow, it made perfect sense that a song Will hated was playing on his car radio when he left Caroline's place. "Colour My World." Ugh. But he was seeing red and feeling blue, and she was flaming orange and green with envy. So he had to almost laugh. Almost.

After all, his encounter with her had brought him a welcome respite from his self-recrimination and regrets. Dealing with Charles' sister brought forth an emotion he rarely felt—anger. Red-hot anger. He'd tolerated Caroline for years because she was a Bingley, put up with her insinuations about their "relationship," and suffered through her mouth-breathing answers on Game Night. No more. Today, when that box had landed in his hands, he'd turned his back on her for good.

But the anger didn't linger. Those newly familiar feelings of remorse, heartbreak and melancholy returned after he took care of delivering Jane's belated Valentine's Day gift.

William Darcy IV wasn't a man to drown his sorrows in drink or mindless sex; he filled the ache as he always did, through work.

He was grateful to have an excuse to think of something else, to focus on the numbers and balance sheets he'd always excelled at, if not loved. At Pemberley Funds, he'd spent the majority of his time dealing with the board and overseeing the firm's major mergers and acquisition deals. He hadn't had the opportunity to strategize or think big.

Now he decided to make a clean break from the bank. He'd realized during his leave of absence that he didn't enjoy his job; in fact, he hated much about it. He was tired of brokering deals that made rich people richer but didn't promise long-term benefit to the people who worked for the companies. While he would remain tied to Pemberley Funds as the son of the company's founder and as its largest shareholder, he could make his own choices and pursue his own interests. Will determined he wished to continue his work for the bank's non-profit foundation. He'd look after his own business interests for a while, and invest his money as he wished.

A prospective investment didn't take long. Within days of Will's announcement, another board member called and asked him to speak with a longtime client. The septuagenarian, an old friend of Trey Darcy, was furious at the board for what he perceived as poor treatment of his friend's son. C.P. Brandon, the son of Midwest farmers, had an idea and needed a partner to make a deal. Will was his man. Brandon's age never kept him from paying attention to and moving his investments into forward-looking companies. His grandchildren told him that clean energy was the future. His conversations with the younger Darcy led Will to put together a financial strategy for the venture capitalization of a wind turbine manufacturer.

Soon Will was off to a place as exotic to him as the Outback had been for Charles. Iowa. Mile after mile of frozen, flat farmland. Hundreds and hundreds of sky-high wind turbines dotted the landscape, their blades turning slowly in the prairie wind and supplying twenty percent of the state's power.

The project was a saving grace, Will admitted to himself. The 1,100 miles between his bed at the Holiday Inn in Newton, Iowa, and his custom-made mattress in Manhattan helped him keep an emotional distance from all the what-ifs running through his brain. Working, even in semi-frozen Iowa in March, was a better way to keep his mind focused and occupied than moping in his study or sitting on a beach, growing a beard, and thinking about Elizabeth Bennet.

He'd have to remember to send a note of thanks to Robert Lucas, who'd mentioned the windfarms to Will when they'd met in January. Robert, always a city boy, had spent a year at the Iowa Writers' Workshop and had been impressed by the state's emphasis on clean energy.

Will liked what he saw too. After consulting with New York, he put together a deal in which he and Brandon would provide capital for the young company. It felt good. They were going to help develop an important home-grown industry and make money for everyone involved.

At least as important, he didn't spent the three days he was there thinking of Elizabeth every minute, or even every hour. On the flight back to New York, he decided he could conquer his feelings. It had been a couple of weeks now since he'd crashed and burned at 324 Hunsford Place. He felt healed enough that, when he arrived home and heard Charles' message about the Hursts' party, he decided to go. Charles' voicemail was a good reminder that he hadn't even looked at the stack of mail piling up for the past few weeks at the apartment. Bills were paid online by his accountant, he had no interest in his monthly and weekly magazine subscriptions, and anything else—social invitations or benefit galas—could gather dust as far as he was concerned.

And then Will walked into the Hursts' living room and he saw her. Laughing and happy. With someone he knew.

_Why is she here?_ he wondered. _Why is Elizabeth at the Hursts'?_

He was angry and he was hurt. The instinct to flee kicked in again. He'd buried himself in work and now he just needed to bury himself in solitude. He wanted to leave town—immediately. Stop thinking about what had happened at Pemberley Funds. Stop thinking about the new investment he'd made. Stop thinking about what he was going to do in the future. And most importantly, stop thinking about Elizabeth Bennet.

Will knew then that he'd been fooling himself. He'd spent the last few weeks trying not to think about her, trying to keep his mind off of her. He'd worked, he'd traveled, he'd run and worked out. He'd done everything he could to keep his mind occupied until his body would wear out and he'd collapse, night after night, into a sleepless state, laying in his bed or on the sofa thinking about her and how he'd been wrong about her feelings. He'd wonder what it would be like to have her in his bed. He'd wake up painfully hard from dreams of her body soft and warm in his hands, her eyes full of love, her lips on his.

And over and over, he'd re-imagine their last conversation and how different his life—their lives—would be now if he hadn't fallen so hard and stumbled so badly in telling her how he felt.

_Would it have been so difficult to simply ask her to dinner? To start small?_

Georgie had been happy to see him back from his trip, but she was preoccupied with the countdown to the April 1 Acceptance Day and her midterms. But he owed it to her to ask if she minded him heading out to their country house, alone.

He found his sister in her room. Despite its generous square footage, she'd made it seem warm and cozy. The red theme she'd adopted during her Team Edward "Twilight" phase had endured, but had been aged up with Mondrian and Chagall prints and Steichen photographs. She was sprawled on her bed, leafing through an oversized book on Fallingwater.

Their trip last summer to the great Frank Lloyd Wright house had been postponed by her rehab, and he'd promised her a trip there in June.

Georgie looked up as he entered and he smiled at the picture she presented. Hair piled on her head, smart glasses perched on her nose, an NYU hoodie swallowing her up. Her toenails were painted a bright blue.

"Hey Will. What's up?"

"Just checking in. You and Mrs. Reynolds have been holding down the fort, it seems."

Georgie smirked at him. "Well, there's no broken Russel Wright or shattered Baccarat hidden in the cupboard. And I haven't borrowed any of your sweaters in ages. Not for at least a week or so."

Will grabbed a stuffed dog and tossed it at her head.

"Not Lochte! Leave him alone!"

Will stared at his sister. "Lochte? You named a stuffed animal after that airhead swimmer with the diamond-studded grill?"

Georgie shrugged. "Hey, he's cute."

She put down the book and sat up. "Will, you're going somewhere again, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You haven't stopped moving since you left the bank," Georgie said quietly. "Where are you going now?"

She sighed and looked at her toes. "Or should I ask what you're running away from?"

_Georgiana. Cripes, how smart is this girl? And who says I'm running?_

"Will, are you okay?"

She'd only asked him that question two times that he could remember. Once, after she'd jumped up into his arms and knocked him to the ground when she was 13, and again last year, after the headlines about his "breakup" with Judith. Did he look that awful now?

He sat down on the bed and picked up Lochte. The dog was soft and squishy. Maybe he should get one to sleep with.

"I'm fine. There's just a lot going on." He looked over at her and wondered how much she guessed about what was really going on with him, if she had noticed how he looked at Elizabeth. Probably not. Elizabeth sure hadn't.

"It's just a couple of days. I want to go up to Milbrook and do some things in the workshop. I think working with my hands, just making something, would be a good thing right now."

"You're not going to tell me why, are you?"

"Not right now. But I will. I promise."

The next morning, after Georgie was off to school under their driver's escort, Will thanked Mrs. Reynolds for her patience and her presence, re-packed a suitcase, shoved his mail into his briefcase, and drove off in the Range Rover. A few days at the house—alone—seemed perfect.

Two hours later, he let himself into the house. Mrs. Reynolds had called ahead to their part-time caretaker, and had the furnace turned up and a fire lit in the living room. Will spent four hours planing wood and turning spindles. Just smelling the warm, crisp wood shavings and crunching his boots in them felt good. He knew he couldn't hide out forever. He knew he was being immature, avoiding the city and running out of a party so he didn't have to see Elizabeth. But right now, it felt good.

In fact, it felt good enough that his mind was blessedly blank, and by mid-afternoon, he found himself in the kitchen warming up soup and making grilled cheese. He decided to sort through the mail and go for a run.

Will didn't screen his mail at home. Mrs. Reynolds tossed out the junk mail, the solicitations, and unwanted communication. But that still left a two-inch stack of letters, mostly thick, expensive envelopes. He'd spent so much time avoiding the city's social whirl over the past year. Was he going to have to plunge in again, now, when he least wanted to be fawned over by socialites, lawyers, city powerbrokers, financial analysts, and whatever else washed up in the city elite's dating pool? He couldn't bear to think about it.

He'd opened six invitations—two for events already past, four for gatherings in the next month—before he picked up the blue rectangular envelope with his name written on it in a distinctive female hand, and marked "Personal." Will turned over the envelope, and there it was, the return address written across the back: 324 Hunsford Place. His eyes widened and he sucked in his breath. He turned it over again and peered at the dated inkblot across the postage stamp. _February 24. Oh god. Today is March 16. She replied to my letter. Three weeks ago. Oh no. _

With shaky hands, he reached for the letter opener and slowly, carefully, slid it through the seal. He pulled out the card and stared. "A Maid Asleep." A "minor" Vermeer, one that few people knew but which had many rumored meanings. _A mystery_. She'd called him a mystery once, while they ate grilled cheese and chili in the diner. He looked up at his empty dishes and shook his head, the words of an unwanted melody running through his head. _Here, there, and everywhere._

Will cleared his throat. _Stop stalling_. He opened the card, took in the even, lyrically flowing handwriting, and began to read. When he'd finished, he read it again. She wrote nice things, she apologized, she was very careful. And certain phrases stuck in his mind.

_"I'm sorry…"_

_"I never meant to encourage your feelings…"_

_"You are a kind, smart man…."_

She was sorry for what she'd said to him and how she acted. She didn't think he was a monster or an idiot. She might not love him, but she didn't hate him. She was wrong about it all.

_"I'm sorry that I misunderstood your feelings or led you into thinking there was anything more between us. I never meant to hurt you…"_

This hurt, but he could tell she hurt too. But what did she mean, leading him on? Elizabeth Bennet was the rare woman who never tried to attract him, to lure him, to trap him or use him. She was the real thing. _She never led me, I led myself._

He looked again at her words.

_"We both made mistakes about the other. I insulted you the first night we met, but I promise I will not let past assumptions and mistakes interfere should we meet again. It's best to forget the past and look to the future…"_

He sat and mulled over the last paragraph until dusk. As darkness fell and snowflakes started to drift across the landscape outside his window, Will stayed still. His restlessness was gone. He needed to focus.

_So that's it? She wants us to move on, forget it, buck up, keep a stiff upper lip? Just be civil? Just be..?_

I can do that, he thought. _We can be friends._

He needed to stop running away. His best friend was dating Elizabeth's sister, and from the looks of it, their relationship was as intense as it had been before Charles' Aussie adventure. He needed to go back to the city and face his life, as Charles' friend and thus with Elizabeth Bennet in it, in whatever manner was necessary. If he stepped back and just became her friend, then maybe she'd see him as more than the guy in the sweater, the guy with the nice sister, a fun best friend, and an inability to talk sensibly around her. Maybe she'd grow to like him. He couldn't hope for more.

_Well,_ he sighed, still visualizing Elizabeth laughing with Marty's brother. _I can hope she isn't seeing anyone._

But before he went back, he wanted to find the rest of his mother's papers. He needed to understand more about Trevor Wickham and what he'd done. And he needed to understand what had driven his mother to follow her professional dreams after she'd attained her personal ones. Unlike her, Will hadn't managed to accomplish either, and the past few weeks had shown him that maybe it was time to try.

* * *

An hour earlier, and a hundred miles away, Elizabeth moved around her office, feeling every ounce the successful social worker. She'd spent the last hour talking with and playing Sorry! with one of her newest patients, a 15-year-old boy named Jake who was failing school, fumbling socially, and acting out at home. His mother, a reflexive reactor who pushed him into activities and situations where he wasn't comfortable and withdrew, worried he was depressed and might fall into drugs. His father was distant and removed, and his stepfather focused on work and his disappointment in a stepson who hated sports. Elizabeth thought Jake simply was going through a not uncommon adolescent funk, made worse by what she suspected was mild Asperger's.

They'd had a really good session today, and he'd opened up. He was deeply frustrated by his poor grades and his lack of friends. In the report she'd just finished, Elizabeth had determined he needed some testing to evaluate his academic strengths and challenges; a school plan, with accommodations, would be necessary for him to regain his confidence in school. Being a better student would help him socially, but they had more work to do there with social and behaviorial cues.

She felt good, though, and knew Jake did too. It was a good day. She was hungry, a rare occurrence these past weeks. She hadn't been eating much, still upset with herself and wondering about Will and his whereabouts. And, she was admitting to herself, worrying about him.

Wickham worried her too. She'd been walking on eggshells at Haven ever since she'd learned the truth about him. She knew there was no actual proof he'd been near Georgiana Darcy when she fell, but learning about his father and the lies George had told her had validated that itchy feeling he'd always given her. She'd been avoiding Wickham ever since she'd read Will's letter. She'd even torn down that newspaper clipping from the bulletin board and kept her distance when she saw him in the corridors with Mary or Lydia.

Now, her stomach growling, Elizabeth wanted some lunch. She needed to use the microwave to heat up some soup. The one in her floor's kitchen was broken so she headed into the stairwell to go to the seventh-floor kitchen. Before the stairwell door closed, she could overhear voices in a hushed but heated conversation. She stopped and listened._ Wickham!_ He was talking to a woman, perhaps a girl, and urging her to help him do something downstairs. The girl sounded reluctant, maybe scared. Elizabeth walked down the steps as quietly as she could and turned the corner.

"Hello George." She turned to the girl, a thin, nervous teenager, a patient dealing with her mother's recent incarceration for forgery. "You're working with Mary on her montage project, right? You're Melina?"

The girl, her eyes wide, nodded and backed away from George.

"I'm Elizabeth. Are you okay? Is he bothering you?"

Melina shrugged and said nothing.

"It's against the rules for him to be speaking with you here. Why don't you go find Mary? I'll stop by later and maybe you can show me your section's design. Okay? It's going to be such a cool mural."

The girl nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

George stared at Elizabeth, and broke into a slow, lazy smile. "Why, Elizabeth Bennet. You wound me. I was just getting my exercise walking the stairs. It's too icy out there to run these days and I can't afford a gym. I ran into her and said hello."

"Sure you did, George. You broke the rules, speaking with a patient in an unauthorized area." Elizabeth walked down the last few stairs and stepped past him until she was by the door. He unnerved her and she wanted to make a fast exit.

"C'mon, Liz, don't be a Nurse Ratched. Rules, schmules. No harm, no foul."

"I have to report you, George."

"What the fuck! Don't be such a bitch. They'll fire me."

"What can I say, George. You should stay away from young girls in stairwells."

His eyes flashed and narrowed. "Something you want to tell me, Liz? Something you want to accuse me of?"

"Not my case to prosecute. But I'll be happy to be a character witness."

Her heart pounding, she slipped through the door and made a beeline for the kitchen, which she was happy to see was occupied. She was afraid Wickham would follow her; her mind flipped back to a few minutes earlier and she was relieved to remember she'd locked her office door.

Elizabeth left her soup on the counter and went to Human Resources to report George's behavior. They eagerly accepted her information and handed her a form to fill out. She headed back to the kitchen, still with a couple of staffers inside, and heated up her soup.

Two days later, the news broke. Wickham was gone, under arrest for stealing prescription pads. Hoping to talk to Mary, Elizabeth instead ran into Lydia. The girl sneered at her, and then burst into tears. "It's just awful. Mary dumps him and calls the cops on him? He's so sweet. They'll eat him alive in Rikers!"

_Mary turned him in? Wow._ Elizabeth glanced at Lydia; great gobs of mascara were running down her cheeks. She didn't have the wherewithal to comfort the young woman. But she could warn her.

"Lydia, George is not a sweet man. He's a sociopath and a criminal. Please, stay away from him." She paused. "And Lydia, go wash your face. You have such pretty eyes. Don't hide them with all that makeup."

Then she went back to her office and called Jane to find out when Robin Fitzwilliam had his next appointment. She learned his final session with Jane was the next morning. Elizabeth planned to head over there first thing to tell him about Wickham; she needed to get word to Will, and with no response to her card and his endless traveling, this seemed to be her only option. She hoped Robin would understand her overture and wouldn't be offended by her intrusion into Darcy family business.

* * *

Robin and Will collapsed into the booth at the back of Parlor. They'd played a hard game of squash. Robin batted down Will's concern about his back. "Look, losing to you one time doesn't mean I can't make it to Machu Picchu," he scoffed. "Besides, my PT signed off on my good health."

As was common between cousins who grew up facing each other over card games and soccer balls and tennis courts, their match today had been a loud, hard-fought battle. What had made it unusual was that Will, the younger, less competitive cousin, had emerged the victor.

Now, as Robin sipped his first beer, he took a good look at Will. He was thinner than a few weeks ago, and despite the strength he'd shown in winning the game, he looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to be a permanent fixture.

"Iowa, huh? You're going to make some people very rich. Oh, that's right, you already are," he laughed. Will stared at him, shaking his head. "Okay, okay. You're doing it for humanity, bringing goodness and light to all that you meet."

Will shook his head and stared at his beer. "Robin, it's a solid deal. As long as the tax credits hold, the market has huge potential."

Robin drained his glass. "I know. It's the perfect antidote to that dirty coal deal." He glanced at his cousin. "Sorry. We won't even touch that topic. But this trip seems to have been good for you."

They paused to order steaks and another round of drinks. "Will, I need to talk to you. I ran into a friend of yours today when I went to my PT appointment."

Robin looked at Will, intent on seeing his reaction. "Elizabeth Bennet."

Will blanched and his throat went dry. He reached for his beer and took a sip.

"Oh?"

"She had some news about Wickham. She wanted to tell you, but she wasn't sure how to reach you. She's heard you've been out of town a lot. So she showed up at Jane's office when I was there."

Darcy leaned forward, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the seat.

"Apparently, she had an encounter with Wickham. Found him in a stairwell with a young girl at the hospital."

Robin shook his head. "Whatever he had planned, Elizabeth interrupted it. She reported him to the boss, but it didn't matter."

A million thoughts ran through Will's head. "It didn't matter?"

"He was arrested a couple of days later for stealing prescription pads. Serious stuff."

Darcy leaned back and rubbed his chin. His heart was racing. "He's in jail, right? They're holding him? He's not coming after Elizabeth?"

"No danger of that. He's a flight risk. Apparently he had a string of outstanding warrants in Florida and Maryland."

Will nodded and looked up at the server bringing their dinners.

"Is she okay? Did Elizabeth seem scared?"

Robin fought back a smile and picked up a French fry. "She was fine. A little frantic to make sure you and Georgie knew. A little apologetic about approaching me."

"What? Why?"

"I had the feeling she was worried about what you'd think of her for telling me. She seemed, I don't know, a little down. A little sad."

Will looked into his glass and swirled the bit left inside. _About me? No. Haven? _

"Hey," Robin said softly. "Want to tell me what's been going on?"

Looking up, Will saw his cousin watching him, his brows knitted and his eyes serious. As annoying as Robin could be, as competitive and teasing and frustratingly difficult as he was, he'd been Will's loyal friend through every event—good and bad—of his life. He'd stayed with Will during and after his parents' funerals, he'd slept in the hospital during Georgie's surgery, he'd bucked up his cousin's ego when it had been shattered by an unfaithful girlfriend. How could he not tell him about Elizabeth?

And so he did. His food grew cold as he talked.

"You're not giving up on her, are you?"

Will looked up at the pressed-tin ceiling. "She wasn't interested, Robin. She…I'm just going to be her friend, and follow her lead."

He glanced over at Robin, waiting for his response. Robin was a man who enjoyed serial relationships—always monogamous, but never long-lasting. He genuinely loved and respected women, and he understood them better than Will ever had.

"Will, I've only met her a few times. But she impresses me as a kind, genuine, intelligent woman. One with a brilliant smile and a really fine pair of –."

"Shut it, Robin," Will said, gritting his teeth.

"Eyes," he laughed. "Aw, you can't say you haven't noticed. You've been working out and burning off a lot of energy lately."

Robin raised his eyebrows. "How long has it been for you? Weeks? Months?"

Will stuck his fork in his baked potato.

Robin stared at him. "Since Judith? A year? God, you're going to spontaneously combust. Go woo this woman."

"Woo? Seriously?"

"Yes. She's perfect for you." Robin raised his nearly empty glass. "A toast to the beautiful woman who's captured your heart. Now go win her."

Will, his steak untouched but his beer glass empty, groaned. "Please don't start plotting strategy. Let's just see if she can be in the same room with me, okay?"

"Step one: Try to stay in the same city she's in, Will. You're off flitting about like a freaking firefly." He chuckled and drained his glass. "You're in charge of steps two and three. But I might weigh in on step four."

Will couldn't help it. He started laughing too. He was going to be okay. He was going to do everything he could to show Elizabeth he cared about her, and give her time to accept his friendship. Apparently, the best relationships start with and are grounded in friendship. He'd read it in a _Cosmo_ magazine Georgie had left in the kitchen last week.

"Now what were you doing at the Milbrook house?" Robin asked.

Will was happy to change the subject from "wooing" Elizabeth. That was too remote a possibility, and too distractingly painful, to hope for. But he needed Robin's help with what he'd discovered in his mother's files at the house. He was excited and needed a sounding board. Will leaned forward and popped a couple of Robin's French fries in his mouth.

"You know about Willoughby's newest plan, right? Buy Haven Hospital, knock it down and put up another overpriced memorial to himself?"

"The place where Elizabeth works? Not that this is about her, though."

Will ignored him and kept talking. "That jerk only sees the real estate under the building. He doesn't care about its history, its beauty, or how important it is to the people who work there and the patients."

Robin cut into his steak and thought for a minute.

"Willoughby's pressuring the city to let the building go on the market? What do you have in mind?"

Will smiled and cleared his throat. He picked up his knife and fork and started sawing away at his steak. He loved coming up with a killer strategy. Especially one that could make one woman happy and complete another woman's dream.

"It turns out my mother owned some real estate I never knew about…."

* * *

Elizabeth tapped her foot. She was tired of waiting and tired of not getting any explanation for why she had to wait. _Was this meeting going to start, or what? _

She'd rushed down to City Hall with Phil for what seemed to be the last, best chance for Haven to stay Haven. The thought of it being torn down for another stupid, uninteresting skyscraper infuriated her. But the public meeting of the Landmark Preservation council had been postponed and some kind of special committee was convening upstairs. _Was that legal? Weren't there sunshine laws about open public meetings? _

Elizabeth sighed and sat down on a bench against the wall. Phil had gone to see what was happening upstairs. She was keeping an eye on the public meeting room. Just in case. A small group of journalists, real estate agents, and Haven neighbors milled about.

She looked down at her phone and texted Jane. _"Have a great time! I know a great PT if you break a leg!"_ Charles was sweeping Jane off her feet with a weekend in Vermont. They would be skiing, skating, spa-ing, and sparking. Elizabeth was impressed by Charles' diligent and faithful attention to repairing his relationship with Jane. _We should have his sweet essence bottled. We could make a fortune selling it. We'll call it B'eau. Matt Damon can be in the ads._

She looked around the cavernous lobby. _Where is that coffee guy?_ The familiar twinge of regretful melancholy hit when she spotted the coffee kiosk. She began to replay the conversations she'd had there all those months ago with Mr. Busy and Important._ Sweater Boy._ The man who'd disappeared. The man she'd spent weeks looking for, missing his warm, quiet presence but whom she hadn't really seen, not the way he claimed she had, until it was too late.

And suddenly, there he was, walking out of the elevator, eyes fixed on his phone, heading right toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut and slowly opened them. _It was him_. He was closer now. She took off her glasses and stood up.

She knew the moment he saw her. He slowed and the preoccupied, thoughtful expression on his face shifted to one of shock. He quickly schooled it and a crooked, hesitant smile emerged. Elizabeth felt her insides drop. _He really is so handsome. Is he going to talk to me?_

Suddenly, he was in front of her.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He stared at her. Elizabeth tried to think of what came next.

"Um, how have you been?" Will asked.

"Good, um, busy." Elizabeth replied. Her voice sounded raspy to her ears, so she cleared her throat. "And you? You've been traveling a lot?" _Oh, brilliant observation._

Will nodded. "Yeah, I—. Um, I've been doing some projects. Around."

"So, um, it was really nice of you to intervene with Caroline and retrieve Jane's present." She took a breath. "Thank you."

He rolled his eyes, just a little. "Sometimes Charles needs saving from his best intentions. But he really loves her."

"Seems like it's mutual. They're heading to Stowe now. It sounds wonderful." _You go, girl. Now you've just told him how wonderful a romantic getaway sounds. _

She cringed and hoped the yellowish fluorescent lighting would cover her blush. _Hello, Mr. Mayor? Why hasn't the city installed halogen bulbs? _

"Yes, the skiing is great there. Robin and I…." He trailed off and looked past her. "Elizabeth, thank you for telling him about Wickham. I'm sorry you got caught up in it. I hope he didn't threaten you or anything."

He looked at her, his eyes intense. She shook her head.

"Thank god. It's a huge relief he's not around anymore. I still want to find out why he did that to Georgie."

Elizabeth smiled. His sudden outpouring gave her the courage she needed. "I'm fine. I'm so glad he's gone. And Georgie is fine? You've told her?"

He nodded.

"Good. Good." _Will, I need to tell you something_.

"Will—."

Her phone started buzzing. She ignored it at first. But then she realized she couldn't ignore it.

"I'm sorry, it's my boss. I have to take this."

She turned around and looked at the screen. _"Haven is bought. Not by Willoughby. Meet me by the front doors." _

"Shit! I have to go."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she shook her head, her face pale. "Yes…something's happened with Haven. I have to go. I'm sorry."

A million thoughts were running through her mind._ What happened? Who bought it? Did the city reclaim it? _

As she walked away, Elizabeth remembered she hadn't asked Will why he was at City Hall. She hoped the journalists hadn't seen them.

* * *

Will, on the other hand, hadn't even noticed the press. He was so shocked by running into Elizabeth, and so focused on regulating his behavior and watching his words, that he hadn't seen anything but her. She'd looked so beautiful. He hadn't seen her in nearly a month. Charles had mentioned her a few times, but never in enough detail. He hadn't mentioned that her eyes were striking or that her hair smelled good or that she looked thinner and tired.

But Will had seen her. She had been kind and gracious, and not overtly unhappy to see him. _Step One: accomplished. They could make small talk. They could talk._

He knew now, walking out of City Hall with signed contracts under his arm, that he would be seeing her again. And he could live with that, for now.

**Notes:**

Colour My World by Chicago: If you went to high school in the late 1970s, you slow-danced to this song.

Iowa Writers' Workshop: Perhaps the best writing program in the United States, based at the University of Iowa in Iowa City.

April 1 Acceptance Day: The date by which most private colleges in the U.S. notify high school seniors of their acceptance for fall.

Piet Mondrian

Marc Chagall

Edward Steichen: One of the great photographers of the 20th century. Best known for his exhibit The Family of Man, and of course, his photo of the Flatiron.

Fallingwater: A stunning house, built over a waterfall, in western Pennsylvania. It was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, America's most famous architect, as a private home. Built between 1936-39, it is a National Historic Landmark.

Russel Wright: A mid-century American modernist, he was perhaps the first designer to successfully market products using his own name as the brand. He designed everything from furniture to dishes and glassware. For 56 years, my parents have relied on his beautiful Iroquois dinnerware for everyday use. It's the only thing I'm interested in inheriting but they keep using it for chicken sandwiches.

Ryan Lochte: Dude! Eleven-time Olympic medalist in swimming, and a hilariously clueless interviewee.

A Maid Asleep: Multiple meanings have been applied to this work. Is the dozing maid dreaming of love (the painting above her, with Cupid's leg, stands for "Love Unmasked")? What is implied by the recent presence of a male companion, as suggested by the large glass, the chair shoved aside, and the open door?

Here, There, and Everywhere: Sigh. Early Beatles, and just lovely.

Nurse Ratched: The severely dictatorial nurse in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Parlor


	16. Chapter 16

_"And Darcy gets out of the pond and runs into Elizabeth..." One of my favorite-ever reviews! Thanks LadyRuthless! And kudos to at least one of you art sleuths who checked out Vermeer's "A Maid Asleep." I'm so glad you got the message implied in that masterpiece. As for Lady C's role in the story, let's just say the woman is stilled holed up re-reading her Christmas gift from Robin. Ha. This chapter has a little Pablo Neruda in it_.

_After this one, there are two chapters to go. Hint, hint: That means progress toward an HEA._

**Chapter 16**

"My god, Darce. I had no idea."

Charles gazed around Darcy's study. "Why the hell didn't you ever say anything?"

Will leaned back in his chair and gazed at the man in front of him. Charles' blue eyes were wide with wonder, his dark blond hair askew from the hand that kept worrying it.

"Charles, I didn't even know about it myself until a few weeks ago. You know that I was never completely happy at Pemberley. And I finally had the time to figure out what I wanted."

"But you're not an architect."

"No. I'm a businessman who likes architecture." _I am my mother's son too. _"I'm hiring people."

Charles walked over to the window and looked out over the city. "You walked away from that," he said, gesturing carelessly towards downtown. "So you can be an entrepreneur? This isn't like you. Aren't you terrified?"

Darcy grimaced and looked down at his desk. Odd, he thought. The varnish had worn off the edge. He'd have to get it refinished.

"Not really. There are a lot of truly terrifying things in this world, Bingley. A lot of things, but not this…."

A pair of green eyes flashed in his mind and he felt that familiar thrum in his chest. Being in love was not scarier than getting that call from the school when Georgie had fallen. It was not more frightening nor more desolating than standing at his mother's funeral when he was 12. Or trying to figure out how to fill whatever role —brother, mother, father—his little sister needed while he prepared for his first board meeting.

But being in love brought back that same sense of helplessness. God, he just wanted to see Elizabeth again, and talk again. And maybe move to Step Two. He sighed and shook his head, bringing himself back to the moment.

"Like what, Darce?" Charles was staring at him with a puzzled look on his face.

"It was more terrifying to stay put and do a job because I thought I was supposed to," Will said softly. "My father always said he did what he loved and he loved what he did. But he didn't encourage me to follow his advice." _He just said to follow him, _he thought.

Charles leaned back against the bookcase. "So you're making this all up yourself?"

Will nodded. "Well, an MBA comes in handy for some things. But I've got some good advisors, and I've talked to some of my mother's old colleagues."

Charles gave him a toothy smile. "Well, look at you, Mr. Job Creator. How many people are you going to put to work?"

"Two so far. We'll see." He looked at his best friend. Charles looked as though he was about to burst. Suddenly Will realized that talking about the rebirth of WDIV wasn't the real reason Charles was here. He'd spent enough years helping the younger man sort through calculus, constitutional history and confusing girlfriends to know when Charles was killing time to avoid the real topic. He took a deep breath. _This will change everything._

"So," he said. "Have you asked her yet?"

* * *

As she finished her run at Battery Park, Elizabeth felt lighter. She was unburdened from her professional worries of the past few months—her job was secure, Haven's future was guaranteed, and an expansion was actually in the planning stages.

The story behind it all was still a bit of a mystery. The _Times_ had given the facts, sparingly, and her colleagues had provided the gossip. Everyone knew the mayor was a billionaire, so maybe he'd bought it? Not according to the _Times_, which reported that the hospital, long-starved of the city's attention, had found an anonymous savior.

The owner of the building behind Haven, on 76th, had sold it to the city for $1 under a guarantee of its conversion into an in-patient facility, and donated $25 million toward Haven's modernization and expansion.

It was a miracle. None of it made sense to her. She supposed such anonymous bequests were made all the time; there was plenty of art on display at museums signed over by generous benefactors. But this was such a huge gift. If nothing else, she'd like to write a thank-you note to him or her. Whoever had done such a thing had obviously been deeply touched by a loss or health crisis and had the money to give something back. She pictured a sweet old lady like Brooke Astor, who'd made philanthropy her career after suffering terrible personal losses.

Elizabeth hoped the press, which put so much effort into digging through the private lives of famous people, would dig into this story. Even Phil didn't know what had happened.

Now, in mid-April, it seemed that spring had arrived, and Elizabeth welcomed the freedom to run and breathe in the sweet smell of thawing earth. She was running every day, pushing a few more blocks into a few more miles. She'd signed up for a 10K in June. In fact, she thought she might aim for the city marathon in November. She was going to be 27 soon, and she had a list of things to do before she hit 30.

_One tattoo, two careers, three degrees, four boyfriends, five passport stamps, six 5Ks..._

She didn't want any more tattoos or another career and she certainly didn't need another loan for another degree. But she wouldn't mind checking off a few more items on her list. Unfortunately, her older sister wanted to help in one area.

Jane, sure that nothing in the world could rival the joys of being in love, had started prodding Elizabeth to join her and Charles on double dates. Charles had such great friends, Jane would say, such as Leo and Teddy, Tim and Frank. Surely, Jane would ask, you want to meet this wonderful and handsome ad exec/graphic designer/lawyer/trust-fund poet?

Surely, Elizabeth would answer, I do not.

After the fifth demurral, Jane had shaken her head. "Well, how about Mike Hurst? You got on well with him at the `Baby Broadcast Blowout.'"

Elizabeth had forced herself to smile at the moniker Charles had coined for the Hursts' party.

"Janey, please stop. I don't do fix-ups. Get yourself hitched and I'll dance on command with every handsome man there, okay?"

_Especially the best man_, she'd thought.

Jane had given a dramatic sigh. "You're so boring! Charles can't get Will to go out either. All he does is work."

For the first time in weeks, Jane had had her sister's full attention. "Will Darcy? I thought he'd left the bank," Elizabeth had asked.

"He did. His name is still on it but he's working on his own, investing and designing things." Jane had thought for a second. "Maybe he's building more of those chairs."

Elizabeth had nodded.

The only mention she'd seen of Will in the past few weeks had been a _Sunday Styles' _photo of him at a Guggenheim benefit, standing with a beautiful Italian woman. She'd seen him at City Hall, exchanged a few polite, even sweet words. And only a few days later, he'd been photographed with "la signorina."

It was a bitter pill, Elizabeth thought as she neared her building. She hated how that picture made her feel. It fueled the ache of how differently they truly were, despite the moments and thoughts they'd had in common. He was William Henry Darcy IV, tall and handsome in a tux, and surrounded by the rich and beautiful. And she was

Elizabeth Taylor Bennet, wearing three-year-old Lululemon yoga pants and a sweatshirt, panting from another run.

She hated how often she thought of him and wondered if he thought of her. More often, she wondered _what_ he thought of her. Elizabeth knew it was pointless to bother meeting any of the men Jane suggested; she knew they'd fall short of _him_, a man she'd never really known. It was a little late, but she acknowledged the truth.

_I love him._

Elizabeth pulled off her shoes in the hallway and unlocked her front door. She was going to paint that living room wall. She'd wanted to paint it red ever since she'd seen the Darcys' dining room. And she had a feeling she might be looking for a new roommate this year; all signs pointed toward a happily ever after for Jane and Charles. She knew that one of these days, Jane would come home crying happy tears and wearing a gorgeous rock on her left hand. She'd suspected Charles would center his proposal around ice skating, but the ice at Rockefeller Center and Wollman Rink had started thawing a week ago. They'd both be closed by mid-month.

_C'mon Charles. Propose already_. Elizabeth was aghast at her own thoughts. When had she turned into her mother, desperate for Jane's betrothal? Was it her sister's unbearable lightness of being, her happiness, her joy? Was it her own impatience? Or was it just that Woody Allen had cemented her view on relationships when he compared them to sharks? _They have to keep moving forward or they die. Or for some people, _she realized sadly,_ they die before they go anywhere._

Two days later, Jane burst through the door, Charles on her heels, squealing and laughing. The ring was beautiful, the engaged couple exuberant, the long-hidden bottle of champagne exhumed and consumed.

_And this is how it's done_, Elizabeth sighed as she snapped a picture of the lovebirds.

"Thanks, Lizzy! Take one with my phone for the Evite. We're having everyone over next week to celebrate!" Charles cried. "I can't wait to see your family again."

"It will be so great for Katie to see Georgie again. Did you know they're Facebook friends?"

_No. I did not. I'm just a social worker who ignores her own family. And falls in love without even realizing it. _God, she wanted to see William Darcy and have the chance to make a fresh start.

* * *

"Georgie, I don't think you can wear your Yale sweatshirt to the party. Besides, you've barely taken it off since you bought it. It probably could use a trip to the laundry."

Georgie stood in the middle of her bedroom, hands on hips, glaring at her brother. She shook her head sadly.

"Oh ye of little faith. Do you actually think I only own one of these babies? You should check the AmEx bill once in a while."

He gaped at her. _Who is this girl?_

"Chillax, Will. I only have two hoodies, one noodie, four t-shirts, a scarf and a hat. And," she added, "I'll be in something presentable tonight. Plunging neckline okay with you?"

Will grabbed his sister before she could dash away and held her in a headlock. "You'll give me gray hair before I'm thirty."

Georgie wiggled away from him and turned around for an appraisal. She reached up and ruffled his hair. "Still wavy, still black, still in need of a woman's touch."

They both froze. They talked about many things, but for at least the last year, Will's personal life—or lack thereof—had been off limits. That part of his life was a mystery to Georgie. She pulled his hand and led him over to the loveseat underneath a window.

"Georgie, what are you doing? We have to get ready." Will wasn't sure he wanted to hear what this suddenly serious girl planned to say to him.

"Will, I need you to make me a promise, okay? I'm going to school in September, and you're going to turn thirty right after that. With or without gray hair," she added with a small smile.

"I know the math, Georgie. You're a full-time New Yorker for 140 more days. Then you're officially an Eli in New Haven."

"You counted the days?" she gasped. "Geez, did you put big black Xs on your calendar?!"

Will turned and gave her his full attention. "No," he said, tapping his head. "I'm keeping track up here. I'm counting down through the five stages of grief, you know. It's hard to lose you _and_ your dirty dishes _and_ your hundreds of shoes _and _your informative women's magazines all at one time."

He noticed that she looked sad. "And Lochte, of course, and all your other little friends."

Will put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Mom and Dad would be proud of you. I hope you know I am."

Georgie smiled. "You're cool with Yale? I mean, you spent a lot of time there with Mom. It won't be weird, will it?"

"No," he said, meaningfully. "It will be perfect." He felt a lump in his throat. "And if you decide that architecture is really what you want to do, you know there's a job for you at an office not too far from here.

"But if you decide on women's studies or biochemistry, just remember that you can't count on the advantages of nepotism," he added. They both laughed, lessening the tension.

"So, baby sister. Your birthday is a couple of days away. Did I miss the giant hints you usually drop on my head?"

Georgie got up and headed to her desk. She carried over the Tiffany's catalog and handed it to her brother. "Page 45. The little bracelet with the heart. It will match Mom's necklace."

Will's eyes met hers as she continued.

"Mom's Tiffany's locket? You gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday. They'd make a matched set."

His eyes misted. He'd forgotten how he combed through his mother's jewelry box that year, Georgie's first birthday without either parent.

"Okay. I should have thought of that." He took a breath and stood up. He glanced at his watch. "We better get dressed."

Georgie didn't move. "Wait, Will. I need you to promise me something. Stop being so good. When I'm gone, please go wild or something. You don't have to be the good big brother if I'm not here."

Will stood still, trying to figure out what to say. He was shocked and embarrassed and sad. _She thinks she's in the way?_

"Will, you're a perfect role model. But hello? Have you even seen reality TV in the past decade? Hang with Robin and have fun, okay?"

"Georgie—"

But she wasn't finished. "And one more thing. We have 140 days, right? Let's get a dog." Her eyes were pleading. "Please? It's too quiet here. I worry about you after I leave.

"And a dog is such good company," she added.

"You had this planned for how long?" His head was spinning.

"A month or so. Please, Will? I won't worry about you living here without me to steal your sweaters and eat your favorite snacks."

Her brother smiled. "I was thinking about that too," he admitted.

Georgie jumped up. "Yay! To the shelter tomorrow!"

Before he could say another word, Georgie started pushing Will out of her bedroom. "I have to get ready. Will, remember: Dogs are chick magnets."

She laughed and closed the door. Will stood in the hall for nearly a minute, holding the Tiffany's catalog and wondering how he kept letting women get the best of him.

* * *

The loft was bubbling over with Bennets and Bingleys, not to mention Charles' hip Madison Avenue chums and Jane's well-toned physical therapist friends. There was mixing and sparking everywhere Elizabeth looked. But there was no best man, no one named Darcy. Elizabeth bit back her frustration and watched her parents interacting with Charle's widowed mother. Pondering what life would be like with a mother-in-law was one of the many things that had never kept Elizabeth up at night. That was Jane's territory. _Would she be pretty, would she be wry, would she be a major-league New Jersey housewife? Que sera, sera_….she hummed.

Five minutes of conversation with Marlene Benedetto Bingley had clarified what Jane would be dealing with during wedding planning, not mention years of baby showers, birthday parties, and holidays. Marlene was a force of nature, and she liked to be in charge. Had she encouraged Caroline's pursuit of Will?

Elizabeth glanced around at the revelers. Jane had said Will had offered to host the party, but Marlene had insisted on full control for "her lovely boy."

_So. Where the hell was the spurned host? Picking up the Italian chick?_ Elizabeth sighed and gulped down the last drops of pinot. She heard a voice cry "William!" and she turned around. _He was here_. She squinted and peered around the chattering group between them. He wasn't alone, Elizabeth noticed, but she knew his date. Georgie_. Okay then._

* * *

Will felt as though he'd greeted everyone he'd ever met who wasn't a banker. Mrs. Bingley had pounced on him, cupping his face and bemoaning his thin frame, his single status, his need for a wife. Georgie whispered her intent to find Katie Bennet and discuss dogs and college, and had quickly slipped away from the clutches of the Bingley matriarch.

_Traitor_. Will scanned the room, looking for the one person he couldn't find. He wanted to make sure Elizabeth came without a date, like him. He wanted to talk to her, see how she felt and find out what she knew about what was happening at Haven. His name wasn't connected to the real estate deal, and WDIV wouldn't be announced as the project's architects until he had it staffed up. He already had one principal on board making preliminary drawings.

Then he saw Elizabeth, standing on the fringes of a group with Charles and Jane, Robin, Caroline, and a few people he didn't know.

Will made his way through the throngs. His eyes never left her. She looked amazing, in a black cocktail dress and pink pearls. Her hair was up, off her shoulders. She had beautiful bone structure. _Wow_. Had she always been so tiny? Had she always smiled like that at him? _She's smiling at me._

Will stopped.

"Hey Darce, you made it!" Charles cried. "Did you remember your speech?" He looked around, puzzled. "Did you remember your sister?"

"Will?"

Will suddenly realized he was being addressed and shook off his stupor. Everyone in the small group was staring at him. Except for Elizabeth, who seemed very interested in fixing her bracelets. Jane was looking back and forth between the pair, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Hello, everyone." Will nodded to the group.

He shook Charles' hand, slapped his cousin on the back, and leaned over and gave Jane a kiss on the cheek. He desperately wished he could greet Elizabeth the same way, but her reaction, not to mention Caroline's possible expectations, stayed his hand.

"Are you absolutely sure about this guy, Jane?" he asked. "It isn't too late to throw him over."

The happy couple snuggled closer. Robin was eyeing the situation. "Hey Will, you'd better grab a glass of bubbly. There's much to celebrate. Caroline has news to share as well."

Everyone turned to look at youngest Bingley, who stood stock still.

"What is it?" Elizabeth ventured.

"She's going to be a long-distance bridesmaid!" Charles exclaimed. "My baby sister has been promoted to run Bergdorf's new Midwest office."

"Chicago?" Will glanced at Elizabeth. Her expression was unreadable behind her wine glass.

"No, further east," Caroline sniffed. "I'll be gauging Midwest tastes and sensibilities for the company's online sales."

"From where, exactly?" Elizabeth asked.

"Gary? Toledo? Indianapolis?" Robin began listing every flyover city he could think of. "Cleveland?"

"No, dammit," Caroline snapped. "Cincinnati."

Awkward congratulations commenced.

"Great zoo," Jane said gamely.

"The Bengals suck," Robin proclaimed, sporting a grim expression.

"Try the chili, Caroline," Elizabeth said knowingly.

Will met Elizabeth's eyes and grinned. "Yes. Definitely. I hear they put spaghetti in it."

Elizabeth smiled back at him. All of his nerve endings were tingling.

"Can you imagine?" Caroline hissed. "Artery-clogging crap." She stalked off. An amused Robin glanced at his cousin and then veered in the other direction.

"Great carbs for runners," Elizabeth admonished. "Especially with a side of grilled cheese." She nodded her head and a tendril of hair fell loose.

Will stifled a groan._ Oh god. What am I, 16? _He shifted on his feet and made sure his jacket was buttoned.

"Darce, did you see these? Jane's idea! Mom loved it." A beaming Charles held up a bowl of silver and gold M&Ms. Each candy was stamped with "Charles &Jane Forever."

Hard as he tried, Will couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over to Elizabeth's. She was staring at the bowl, biting her lip.

"We should go circulate, sweetheart," Charles sighed. "Will, take care of Lizzy, okay? Make her eat something." He put his arm around Jane's waist and they bounced off into the crowd.

"What is it with the Bingleys and their obsession with food?" Elizabeth said, half to herself.

Will's eyes swept over her. "Has Marlene told you you're too skinny?" _Fuck! Why did I say that?! _

"Not that you are!" he hurriedly added. "I mean, you look fantastic. It's just Marlene is always pinching my cheeks," he gestured hurriedly to his face, "and complaining that I don't eat enough." _William Darcy, Clumsiest Man Alive. Thank god Robin didn't hear that._

Although she looked as if she was trying not to burst out laughing, Elizabeth nodded. "I take it you approve of my love for carbs in pursuit of the greater good? I'm doing my first 10K next month."

"Really? That's fantastic," he breathed. _Step Two. Small talk_.

"I would never deny you your love of diner food," Will added. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward Charles' kitchen. "Did you try Marlene's baked ziti?"

Elizabeth laughed. "This whole thing is catered, they have sweets from Magnolia Bakery, and she still brought Charles' favorite foods? I should have known he was a mama's boy."

She looked over at her parents. Her mother was deep in conversation with Marlene; her father was staring at Mary and Robert, huddled in a corner discussing Charles' choice in art.

"At least Jane is well-prepared for a maternal steamroller," she said.

Will followed her gaze to the future mothers-in-law. _Unmistakable_. _Elizabeth has her mother's eyes_. "Are those are your parents?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Would you mind introducing us?"

"Are you sure?" She looked surprised. "Wait. I'm sorry, of course."

_She's adorable when she crinkles her nose._

Before they could move, their sisters descended on them.

"Hi Elizabeth!" Georgie smiled. "Did Will tell you we're getting a dog? He's going to be so lonely after I leave for school, so we're going to the shelter. Tomorrow," she emphasized.

Will raised his eyebrows. When his sister wasn't acting like a wise 30-year-old, she still sounded seven years old. He would miss that. He smiled at Katie, who looked a bit intimidated, so he moved his gaze elsewhere.

"That's fantastic, Georgiana. I'm sure Katie's told you everything you need to know about rescue shelters," Elizabeth replied. "By the way, congratulations on Yale."

"Thanks. My mother went there."

Elizabeth peeked at Will. "I know." He was staring at her, surprised.

"So, have you picked out a name?" Elizabeth asked. "For your dog?"

The two teenagers looked at each other. Georgie shook her head solemnly. "No. I'll know it when I see him. Or her."

She looked down and brushed a crumb off her dress. "Hey Elizabeth, can you come for Game Night next week? Will promised me we'd have people over."

"Please?" Georgie added. "I call dibs on you for my Trivial Pursuit team."

Will's eyes were on Elizabeth as she nodded. She glanced at him and sighed dramatically. "Expectations are so high. Should I study up on famous authors and complicated math formulas?"

"No, please," he said. "Not unless we're on the same team. My ego can't take another hit." He furrowed his brow.

"Oh, I think you knew more numbers in pi than I did," Elizabeth reassured him.

They were still staring at each while the girls drifted off.

"Sorry about your ego," Elizabeth said blushing. "I keep bruising it, don't I?"

Will swallowed. "No. No, it's just—."

"Where's Darcy? Will, come here!" Charles was calling out for his best man and toastmaster.

* * *

Elizabeth watched Charlie haul Will away. She sighed. They'd taken baby steps tonight. They'd joked around, they'd established a rapport. Was there anywhere to go past that? Or were Charles and Phil and everyone they knew in some kind of conspiracy to thwart their progress?

She drifted to the kitchen, determined to try the ziti and check out what else Marlene had cooked up. _Janey will love living here_, she thought, taking in the maple woodwork and burnished copper appliances in the large open space. _Why is it that people who can't cook always have the nicest kitchens?_

She leaned against the counter and watched the caterers plate up something yummy involving asparagus tips and walnuts. She was finishing a small plate of the truly magnificent ziti when her Aunt Maddie walked in and smiled at her. Elizabeth didn't see her Boston family often enough, and envied Mary for her proximity to her favorite relatives. She'd seen her aunt talking with Will earlier in the evening; he'd handed her a card and they'd shaken hands.

Elizabeth was itchy with curiosity about all things Darcy, but patience was key. _Occasionally_, she thought, _my social worker wisdom asserts itself._ She and Maddie talked for a few minutes about the impending nuptials. Her aunt told her that after observing the interaction between the two future mothers-in-law, her uncle had decided to start a betting pool on the size of the wedding party. He was wagering $20 on seven bridesmaids and 500 guests.

_Men and their fantasy football weirdness_. "I saw you talking with the best man. Was that his bet he handed you?" She hoped she sounded nonchalant.

"Oh, Lizzy, it's the most amazing thing. He asked about my father," Maddie replied. "You wouldn't know, but he was an architect. Mr. Darcy—William—found some paperwork with my father's name on it. Apparently, he'd advised William's mother on a hospital renovation she'd hoped to do about 20 years ago. Can you imagine?"

_No. I can't._

"He sent me a letter a few weeks ago. I didn't know he would be here. I'm going through Dad's papers. I promised to get in touch with him if I find anything," Maddie concluded.

"Elizabeth?"

"May I see the card?"

She stared at the logo, the block lettering that read WDIV. She noted the address on East 76th. A few doors away from the building behind Haven.

_It was him. The mystery man. Oh my god. It's him._

Oh, she couldn't think. His voice was in her ears now, toasting the newly engaged couple_. _

"And sometimes, fairy tales do come true, even in a sports bar. Charles and Jane met at his brother-in-law's bachelor party. I walked out with a wet sweater, Marty was carried out, and Charles walked out with his future."

The crowd laughed, and Will forged ahead. "He's a romantic, you know. And Jane is, well, his perfect match, his perfect partner in life, in love, on an ice-skating rink or here," he stated, gesturing at the loft. "I read this poem recently, and I think it sums up our happy couple."

_"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._  
_I love you simply, without problems or pride: _  
_I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, _  
_in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,_  
_so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."_

A few sighs could be heard.

"To Charles and Jane, to Jane and Charles."

Elizabeth fled to the powder room.

* * *

Will had hoped to talk with Elizabeth after his toast. Or at least at some point after the party. But she was always busy, talking with someone else or elbow-deep in dishes she wasn't responsible for or hugging someone he didn't know. And then he had to leave; Georgie was having Katie spend the night, so he had to get them to their hotel to pick up her things and then head home.

He managed to a moment alone with Elizabeth to tell her goodnight, but she seemed distracted. He didn't know what had upset her, but he figured it had to do with him. _It always did, right?_ Why had he made a joke, publicly, about his wet sweater? Was she insulted? Hurt? He sighed. _Did she feel my eyes on her when I read the poem?_

He didn't stop thinking about it all the next day. After Katie rejoined her parents, he and Georgie headed over to the 92nd Street ASPCA. There were cute puppies and kittens, sweet dogs and cats. Georgie's heart melted over and over. When she asked if they could get some cats, too, he joked that, in his dotage, he could only handle one adjustment at a time.

A five-year-old shepherd mix with a crooked tail, newly dubbed Brody, went home with them. On Monday, Georgie headed off to school after a dramatic, teary goodbye to her new pet. Brody spent the morning in Will's study. At lunchtime, they walked over to the new WDIV offices. The dog made himself at home, curling up in the front window and surveying the world. Georgie was right. It was nice to have someone around, always interested in whatever he said and did.

Of course, Brody wasn't perfect. He needed a lot of walks. _Spring was a good time to get a dog,_ Will mused. _We should have done this years ago_.

He was walking out the office's front doors when he heard her voice.

"Cute dog." Elizabeth, in jeans and a black blazer, was walking toward them. She smiled shyly at him. Or the dog. He wasn't sure. "So who is this handsome fellow?"

He chuckled. "Brody. But I'm thinking of nicknaming him Sir Pees-A-Lot."

She nodded and petted the soft tuft atop Brody's head. "You and Georgie picked a sweetie." Elizabeth looked up at Will. "May I join you guys? I was just heading back to work."

Will nodded and smiled cautiously. They started walking toward Haven.

"Katie really likes Georgie. Thanks for having her over."

"She's a nice girl. I hope she'll be happy at Penn," Will replied.

They walked another block in silence. It was a comfortable silence, he thought. Just a guy and a girl walking a dog.

"You and Jane don't have any pets, do you?"

"No. I mean, not here. We always had cats and dogs at home, in Meryton. It was kind of a relief not to worry about any four-footed roommates."

He nodded. "I had a cat a long time ago. My dad hated it clawing at things so we gave it to our housekeeper's son." He hadn't thought of Cleo in years. Another memory to dust off.

They were nearly at Haven's front steps. He glanced at the statues and then at Elizabeth. She was gazing at him, a serious expression on her face.

"So there seems to be a trend," she said. "One banker becomes a social worker. Another banker slash businessman becomes a clean-energy entrepreneur slash municipal benefactor slash architectural overseer."

Will froze. _No._

"It's so much money, Will. Why?"

He heard the tremor in her voice. "Because it matters, Elizabeth. The building matters. The people who work here, the patients who come here, matter.

He took a breath. "You matter."

His grip on Brody's leash tightened. "And because I can."

She stared at him.

"And because it's important." _To you_.

He looked away from her and saw Brody nosing around the dog statue at the base of Haven's front steps.

"You're a good man, Sweater Boy. I wish I'd realized that a few months ago."

His breath caught and he saw her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, shiny with tears, sparkling at him. _For him._

"Thank you," she whispered. Stepping closer, her eyes seemed to burn through him.

Will shook his head, his eyes bright and confused. "No, don't thank…"

Elizabeth reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "It seems I owe you a lot. Would you risk having a drink with a girl who owes you for a dry cleaning bill?"

His heart lurched and he tightened his hand around hers. "I'm not averse to risk. I used to be a banker, you know," he stammered.

"Do you think maybe we can try for dinner?" he asked softly, holding her gaze. _Step Three._

"I'd like that." Elizabeth smiled at him. "Very much."

He needed to kiss her. Just once. Now.

"Oh my god! He is so cute!"

"Can I pet him?"

"What's his name?!"

_Shit. Really? Was everyone in on this conspiracy to keep them apart? _Will sighed and turned to see a group of young women hovering over Brody. He felt Elizabeth's hand slip away.

"Sure, he's a bit shy. But very friendly," he said.

He glanced at Elizabeth, who was biting her lip and holding back a smile.

"What?" he mouthed.

The women huddled around the shepherd. One looked up. "What's his name?"

Will stared at her in recognition. What had happened to Amy Winehouse? This was the girl who'd followed him to Elizabeth's office way back in January. She looked normal.

"Brody," he replied. _Please go away. Please leave us alone._

"So cute. And he's a shelter dog, isn't he?"

"Yes, Lydia," Elizabeth replied. She looked at Brody, then at Will. He felt the warmth in her expression.

Two of the girls nodded their approval and stroked Brody's soft, pointy ears.

"Good job, Mr. Darcy," Lydia said, a smirk playing around her lips. "Bye, sweetie," she whispered to Brody.

The group moved away and headed up the stairs.

"Brody is quite the chick magnet, isn't he?" Elizabeth observed.

Will tightened his grip on the leash to keep Brody from following his new friends.

"What? No. I mean, I hadn't noticed. I would never—."

Elizabeth bent down and hugged Brody. "I'm jealous," she said. She glanced up and saw the confusion on Will's face.

"With Jane moving out," she explained, "the apartment is going to be quiet. And expensive. I'll miss her, but at least there won't be any more bowls of candy sitting around. She loves those stupid M&Ms and every time I see them I hate myself."

Tears in her eyes, Elizabeth rose and gazed at him. "I'm so sorry for being stupid. You said I saw you, but I didn't. I was frightened. I wouldn't let myself."

Will shook his head as she vented unjust anger at herself. _Memo to self: Get rid of the peanut M&Ms in the office_.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Me neither. I was scared too."

She looked at him, eyes wide and glistening.

"And I hid my feelings from myself," he said urgently. "I didn't know how to talk to you, so I didn't. And then I hid from you, that day in the park."

She was looking away from him. "I'm not frightened anymore," she whispered.

Will's eyes widened and he gave her a tremulous smile. "I'm terrified."

"Why were you reading poetry?" she asked.

_To woo you. To figure out my feelings. Because it's beautiful._

"It made me think of you." He took a breath and kissed her fingers, one by one.

_"So I wait for you like a lonely house  
till you will see me again and live in me.  
Till then my windows ache."_

Letting go of his hand, Elizabeth stepped away from Will and onto Haven's stairs, bringing herself to his eye level. She put one hand on his shoulder, and touched his cheek with the other.

He leaned forward into her arms and pressed his lips to hers.

_Step Four._

* * *

**Notes:**

Brooke Astor: New York socialite and great philanthropist who, until her death at 105, headed the Vincent Astor Foundation, established by her third husband, the son of John Jacob Astor IV (who died on the Titanic) and great-great grandson of America's first multi-millionaire, John Jacob Astor.

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum: Frank Lloyd Wright's spiral paean of inspiration to modern and contemporary art. A breathtaking architectural landmark.

Wollman Rink: Central Park ice rink, restored a few years ago by Donald Trump. And yes, he stuck his name on it.

Noodie: What high school and college girls of my acquaintance call sweatshirts without hoods.

92nd Street ASPCA: Like any other animal shelter, this one does good work rescuing dogs, cats and small creatures. Shelter pets are the best!

Magnolia Bakery: Yummy vintage desserts available in eight locations.

Poems by Pablo Neruda: Chilean poet who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971.


	17. Chapter 17

_So glad everyone liked the first kiss. There are more here. Secret dates are tricky when both D&E live with their sisters. But, the love is growing and the news is spreading._

**Chapter 17**

Their lips were still pressed together, moving in glorious unison and their hands clasping each other close, when it became clear to both Will and Elizabeth that they had an audience. Three teenagers stood at the top of the stairs watching; one boy was looking at an oversized watch on his wrist and counting aloud: "Twenty-three, twenty-four…"

Elizabeth pulled back, blushing. "Ethan, put away that watch. Lucas, Julia, please take your friend up to the group room. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Amid groans and a low whistle from Lucas, the three teenagers trudged through the doors. Elizabeth laid her forehead on Will's shoulder, muttering, "Foiled again," and he could hear muffled laughter.

He put his hand on her cheek and lifted her face. Her lips were swollen, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

"Elizabeth."

"Will, I have to go. Impatient teenagers, especially the kind who like to tease me, are dangerous when left alone for too long."

She looked at him shyly. Will had seen her happy and angry, laughing and impatient, irritated and sarcastic. But her bashful blushing was a new expression, one he was fast learning to appreciate. _Wait, she was saying something._

"What?" he stammered.

"Were you drifting off?" Now Elizabeth stared at him, amused. "I asked if you were still willing to chance it as my dinner date?"

"I'll be back at what, five o'clock? Six? Whatever time you want."

They set the time and Will allowed Brody to drag him off in search of new things to smell and investigate. He accepted the dog's need to search and explore; as for himself, he'd already found his treasure.

* * *

A few hours later, sans Brody and in a clean but familiar sweater, Will was back on Haven's steps, waiting for Elizabeth. He eyed the rabbit sculpture, and marveled at the happy coincidences of time.

After seeing Elizabeth, Will hadn't been able to focus on work. He'd been overwhelmed by the unfamiliar swell of happiness in his chest, so he'd taken Brody for a long walk in the park. Then he'd headed home, where he'd found himself wandering around, straightening books, stacking CDs, and imagining Elizabeth here with him. He'd made three dinner reservations: nearby at Elio's, Downtown at Del Posto, and at Hearth near her place in the Village. Whatever she wanted. He was prepared to sit on the rocks in the Park and eat hot dogs, if that's what she wished. Whatever she wished.

When Georgie had burst through the door, anxious to see her favorite four-legged man, Will hadn't been able to stop smiling. He'd watched her romp on the floor, hugging a wildly happy dog. Then he'd let her know he'd be out for the evening, not an unusual occurrence for a man in demand at business dinners, social gatherings and such. But it was unusual for him to head out for an evening in casual wear, sporting a happy glow. A tacit agreement not to discuss it had passed between them.

Now, as he counted the minutes before he'd see Elizabeth again, he paced and looked up at the building. _Haven really was quite grand_, he thought. At last, Elizabeth emerged. She smiled when she saw him and laughed when she recognized the forest-green cashmere sweater from Marty's bachelor party.

"It matches your eyes," he told her.

She was starving, she said, having skipped lunch to order her thoughts before coming to see him. So around the corner to Elio's it was.

Dinner at a dark corner table was wonderful. She told him how she'd realized she'd misjudged him, and he confessed he'd known his feelings, and had denied them, since at least New Year's Eve.

"I'm not great at speeches," he insisted, "no matter how many I've given in a boardroom. They were—they were bankers in suits, they weren't you."

She reached for his hand and slid hers underneath it. "Will…"

"And if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more, but as it is, I fumbled it."

He noticed how Elizabeth's eyes were alight. She bit her lip and looked away, misty-eyed. She hadn't spoken of love, she hadn't yet told him she loved him, but somehow he wasn't afraid of her omission. _She'd_ come to him. _She'd_ told him she was mistaken about him. And he could see her eyes. No one had ever looked at him the way Elizabeth did. No one had ever looked in his eyes the way she did. He _knew_ she loved him, he _felt_ it, and he was a patient man. After all, he'd been in love with her for far longer than she'd even liked him, he thought ruefully. Still, he didn't want to overwhelm her. He wouldn't say it again.

Over insalata mista, they talked briefly about Wickham. He'd gotten one theft charge reduced after confessing that he'd had no further intent toward Georgie, but had learned where she went to school and followed her there, thinking he could wreak some revenge on the Darcy family. But unable to figure out what he might do, and unwilling or unable to think through any plan, he'd simply behaved like a schoolyard bully and pushed her. A stupid act of violence, they agreed, committed against the sweetest girl in New York.

Will asked about her parents. He'd spoken briefly with them at the engagement party. Mrs. Bennet seemed to be a composite of Jane's and Katie's sweetly effusive personalities while Mr. Bennet, a laconic, droll man who'd seemed highly amused by Marlene Bingley, had given most of his genetic material to Mary and Elizabeth. Always the strategic thinker, Will thought he'd enjoy their company on holidays. He left out the part about the holidays when he told Elizabeth he liked them. _Don't rush things._

Over zuppa di pesce and tortellini en brodo, she told him about Anchor & Freres and her work at Haven. He told her about his mother's background in renovating the building, and the real estate holdings he'd recently uncovered. The middle-class girl from Meryton listened wide-eyed. Her parents' safe-deposit box held neither great mysteries nor financial windfalls.

Will saw her expression change as he spoke, and he caught her hand in his, tracing the links in her tattooed bracelet. It was so beautiful, delicate yet resilient. Like Elizabeth. "Don't think about that stuff. Please. My mother loved that building. She would have loved that we're saving it."

"We? Not quite. It's you."

He started to speak but she squeezed his hand and quietly sang, "Can't buy me love…"

He looked confused, and she hurried to explain. "Will, I'm sorry, again, about all the things I've said or thought and how hard I made everything for you."

"Difficult? You made it easy, Elizabeth." He tightened his grip on her hand.

"Haven was a building my mother loved. It was important to her and she made it significant for me. You made it essential to me. Our meeting each other, and everything that's happened since, is important and it's coming full circle. And if I hadn't met you, if we hadn't …."

"Tussled?"

Will nodded and lifted her hand to his lips. "Tussled?" He chuckled. "Yeah, if that's what you call it in Meryton. I just know I want to do more of it."

He glanced up at the waiter, arriving with their coffee. "Preferably alone."

Saying good night was the hard part. Neither truly wished to separate but it was so new, so raw, they both needed to go home and absorb the day. This new relationship was theirs to share, alone and together, and they didn't want to talk about it to anyone else. Neither of them was ready to explain the history of their interactions and they both had some explaining to do before they brought the other one home.

They stood together underneath Elio's awning. After apologizing that Javier was unavailable—it was his night off—Will hailed a cab. He insisted on taking her back to her apartment.

"Will, I'm fine." Elizabeth leaned forward and gave him a long kiss. She held up her phone and jiggled it. "You can text me in the cab. And I'll text when I get home."

Will looked at her sheepishly. "Um, Elizabeth. I don't have your number."

She looked stricken. "Oh yeah."

Decision made, he jumped in the cab, taking her phone to add his number to her contacts and unconsciously noting there was only one other W listed. _Willa._ She took his phone and typed in her name and number. They kissed in the cab, tenderly at first and then with more urgency until Will pulled away, smoothing his hands over his pants and gripping his knees.

Elizabeth snuggled close to him and whispered in his ear. "I say, Mr. Darcy. Were you spotted making out in a yellow taxi cab last night? The public has a right to know."

"Give me another day or two, and I'll scream it from the rooftops," he replied, willing his heart to slow its rapid beat and his body to cool down.

He signaled the cab driver to wait, and walked her to her front door, where she kissed him softly.

"Go home and give that puppy a pat for me," she said. "Let me know when you get there."

* * *

Elizabeth lay in her bed that night, wondering at the events of the day. He'd told her again that he loved her. They'd kissed, over and over. _Ha_, she thought. _What the hell was wrong with that plastic woman who dumped him so horribly last year?_ How could anyone tear themselves away from those lips, which stirred in her a deep longing she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before? He knew how to kiss. He knew how to hold her hand, how to woo her, how to love her.

_He loves me._ The man she'd yelled at for being arrogant and whom she'd resented for his work and his assumptions about her, loved her. She hadn't told him she felt the same, Elizabeth realized, her face flushed with regret. _I haven't told him I love him._

She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. She did love him, she knew this. She thought he knew it too, and she had no doubt of his love for her. A month or two ago, she might have thought it transitory, that she was a diversion from his big world. But now she knew him, and admired the changes he'd made in his life. She trusted his feelings, as well as her own.

She stared at the walls, sprinkled with black and white prints of early 20th century New York and photos she'd taken on her walks through the city. Sometimes it felt as though these walls were closing in on her, but tonight she felt she could burst through them. The room was so small; had she shrunk her world and her hopes to fit that landscape? His love offered her the world and she needed to offer him the same thing. She took a deep breath and reached for her phone. No. It was too late to text or call—she'd wake him up. That wasn't how she wanted to tell him, not the first time.

"Lizzy? You awake?"

Jane tapped on the door and turned the knob. Elizabeth dropped the phone under the covers and looked up at her sister in the doorway. Jane was wearing one of Charles' Dartmouth sweatshirts and some old boxers, her hair pulled up in a ponytail.

"Hey Jane. Did you just get home? "

"Uh-huh, a few minutes ago. Charles's college friends are just like him. My face hurts from laughing. Good thing I'm not scheduled tomorrow till 11."

She crossed her arms and peered around Elizabeth's room. "Lizzy, it's nearly one, why are you up?"

Elizabeth yawned. "I was asleep," she fibbed. "I had a weird dream and woke up."

Jane tilted her head and stifled a yawn. "Must have been something you ate. You went to Elio's?"

_Shoot_, Elizabeth thought. She'd been unable to resist bringing home the leftover chicken vesuvio, and now Jane had tripped her up with the telltale doggy bag. _The modern Poe,_ she thought, stifling a laugh.

"Who'd you go with?" Jane asked, looking at her carefully.

Elizabeth was tired. She was sleepy, and she was even more exhausted from months of holding in her thoughts and keeping her feelings secret from her sister. Charlotte knew a bit, but her sister deserved more.

"Will Darcy."

Jane broke into a huge grin. "Oh Lizzy, really? Finally?"

_Finally?_ Bewildered by her sister's reaction, Elizabeth could only nod. "How did you know?"

"I have eyes, my dear. And ears. He was always watching you, you were always bringing him up in conversation, there were rose petals here at Valentine's Day…" she trailed off. "And you two have a spark."

Elizabeth leaned forward, hugging her knees, and rested her head atop them. "He's lovely, Jane. He's wonderful."

Jane smiled her happiest smile at her sister.

"Jane, does Charles know? Have you two talked about us?"

"No, honey. We both wished you two could get along, and Charles has worried so much about Will this past year, what with his work stuff, and Georgie, and his lack of a love life, other than those silly gossip bits which often seemed to feature you."

She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "But he thought something had changed recently. Will was so down for so long, and in the last week or so, he seems okay." Jane smiled. "Is that because of you?"

"Maybe a bit. But that's Will's story to tell. Can you let him talk to Charles? He needs to talk to Georgie too." Elizabeth yawned.

"Sure, Lizzy. Go to sleep. I'm pretty sure sweet dreams await you. I'm so happy for you, but I want some serious details tomorrow."

Elizabeth wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping. Will called her at 7:30 a.m., explaining he'd been up for hours but hadn't wanted to disturb her. He was heading to meetings Downtown all morning and through lunch, and wondered if he could drop off something.

"Will, I just got out of the shower, and I have to run. You can't make it here in time."

"Buzz me up? Oh, is Jane there?" he asked. "Maybe you can come downstairs?"

_He's here?!_ Elizabeth nearly dropped her towel. She buzzed him into the building, pulled on her skirt and a shell and ran barefoot downstairs. She brushed past Corey, her burly downstairs neighbor, who stared at her, bemused.

Will was standing in the vestibule, an expensive-looking messenger bag slung over one shoulder, holding a cup of Starbucks in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. As he took in the sight before him, a barefoot, wet-headed, half-dressed and makeup-free Elizabeth, he broke into a huge smile. Elizabeth stopped, stunned.

"I don't know about you, but I couldn't sleep. My mind was just so full," he said. "So I thought you might need a little extra help waking up today."

He held out the cup and the bag. "You're rather fond of chocolate, so I thought a chocolate brioche and a skim mocha latte might help?"

Elizabeth was so shocked she didn't move for a minute. Will's arms started to falter and his expression shifted from happiness to doubt. _No, no!_ Elizabeth's mind screamed. _I'm scaring him!_

"Oh god, Will," she said, taking the coffee from him. "I love you."

His eyes widened and he swallowed. Elizabeth reached her hand toward his and clasped it. The only sounds she could hear were the beating of her heart and the crinkling of the bag as he clenched and unclenched it.

"Will." They looked at each other shyly. "I like chocolate. A lot. I like breakfast deliveries. A lot. But I _love _you."

He took back the coffee, set it atop the mailboxes, and pulled her into his arms. "You have no idea," he whispered before his lips met hers.

Neither of them noticed Corey slip by until the door slammed behind him.

Elizabeth was grateful for Tuesday's busy lineup of groups and appointments. She had a difficult time focusing on playing Jenga, but tried extra hard to listen to her patients. Overall, she was grateful for the day's seemingly never-ending activity.

She and Will met at his office and walked the newly anointed Official Office Dog over to the Park, strolling hand-in-hand under Greywacke Arch and around to Cedar Hill's vast rolling lawn.

Georgie, heading into finals, had texted Will that she had a study group and wouldn't be home till after 8. So they picked up dinner and ate in the kitchen.

After swallowing a bit of bao bun, Elizabeth told Will that Jane knew about them. Her sister had suspected, Elizabeth confessed, and in a weak, sleepy moment, she'd spilled a few beans. "I think Jane's suspected something since the great M&M incident," as Elizabeth now referred to Will's first visit to her home. "She found rose petals in my room."

"You kept some?" Will asked, astonished. "On purpose?"

A sheepish smile was her only response.

Will said he'd call Charles tomorrow and invite him to lunch. "I'd never live down the irony if we got outed by Page 6 before we told our friends." He paused, thinking of his sister. "And family. I need to tell Georgie that we're seeing each other."

When he looked at Elizabeth, she was wrinkling her nose. "`Seeing each other?'"

"That we're together, exclusively, truly, madly, deeply…" he replied, chagrined at his earlier choice of words.

"Exclusive?"

"Yes. Yes?"

"Okay," she nodded. "Now, pass the peanut noodles."

A few minutes later, she asked when Georgie would be home. Will assured her that Javier would let him know when they were on their way home. "He'll drive you home, too," he added, wistfully.

They cleaned up the dishes, or as Will called them, "the evidence." Soon after, they wandered to the den. He sat on the deep leather couch and watched her comb through the DVDs. Her brown hair curled at the ends, just below her shoulders; it was shorter than when they'd first met. She ran her fingers along the edges of the shelves, smiling when she spotted the Disney Princess collection and sending him an odd look when she found the boxed sets of "Freaks & Geeks" and "Arrested Development."

Elizabeth turned, hands on hips and an eyebrow raised. "So, you've shown me to your lair. When do you pull out the etchings?"

He couldn't hold himself back any longer. Will leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist, tugging her down to his lap. "I have no etchings, but I have an eye for fine lines," he muttered, pushing his nose into her hair and running his hands through it.

"You like my lines?" she asked, her voice husky.

"I like everything about you, love," he sighed, pulling her down for a kiss.

Within minutes they were laying side by side and her hands were underneath his sweater, stroking the soft skin and the taut muscles of his back. His fingers fluttered across her stomach, slowly making their way up to her breasts. She shuddered when she felt them touch the lace on her bra.

"Open it," she moaned. His eager fingers fumbled to the front clasp and eased it open. His hand slid over, cupping her breast and gently thumbing her nipple.

She pulled his mouth down to hers, but he slid away, kissing her neck and running his tongue along the edge of her ear. Without conscious thought, Elizabeth's legs parted and he shifted on top of her. She pulled him down, and ran her hands under his sweater, and over the downy hair on his chest. Will groaned and started pulling up her shirt. Elizabeth could feel nothing but his hard planes and angles shaping into her soft places. A gentle hum ran through her.

"Will. Will…."

He froze and pulled himself off of her. His eyes were black as coal and his face was blurry with passion. She reached her thumb toward his swollen lips but he grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. His heart was racing and she briefly wondered if its beating was in sync with her own.

Will shifted and his left hand came up to rub his eyes. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. This is ridiculous. We're not teenagers, but I'm not sure how to handle this. I will, I've just never had to—." He shook his head, and looked at her. "I'm sorry. I don't want to push this, to push you. I want you anyway you'll let me have you, but tell me what you want and we'll figure it out."

"I thought I just did," she said softly. "I had no intention of stopping, but I think your phone was heading for third base."

Will leaned away from her and pulled his phone out of his front pocket. He read the screen. "Javier is picking up Georgie. They'll be here in twenty minutes," he said. "Damn."

Elizabeth slid out from underneath him, but put her hand on his thigh to maintain contact. "Will, now that Charles' friends have left, Jane told me she's staying with him for the next couple of nights," she said quietly. "My place is really small, and my room is not much more than a walk-in closet, but if—we could—."

He turned to look at her. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"No socks on the doorknob?"

Elizabeth nodded impishly. "No socks needed, Frat Boy. But right now, we'd better get me out of here and get you straightened up before your sister gets home."

* * *

Will was just emerging from his bedroom, freshly showered and in sweats, when Georgie made her presence known.

"Hey Will? Anything you want to tell me?"

His mind awhirl, Will glanced at his sister and schooled his expression into one of surprise. "Um, what?"

"Will. Have you forgotten my `Kim Possible' phase? I have superhero sleuthing skills. Something's up with you. And I don't wear lipstick," she said, holding up the water glass Elizabeth had used.

"I found this in the dishwasher. Please tell me it's Elizabeth's." Her eyes weren't full of humor, as he'd expected. They were pleading and hopeful.

_No more John Grisham for this one_, Will thought. He blushed and nodded. "Yes, it's hers. We had dinner."

He wished he'd braced himself for her squeals of happiness and her ferocious hugs.

"Best news ever, Bro," she whispered, holding him close.

She made him promise to bring Elizabeth home to hang out "really, really, really soon," and made it clear that she didn't want to be in his way—in their way.

"My room is like, soundproof. This is a pre-war building, the walls are really thick plaster. Please, Will. Don't worry about me, okay?"

_The walls. She's right._

"Georgie, this is all very new and we're both just trying to keep it low-key, okay? We weren't hiding it from you, specifically. We're just figuring it out."

He took a deep breath. "I'm having dinner at her place tomorrow. Maybe we can all get together on Thursday or Friday, or the weekend, okay?"

"Maybe we should postpone Game Night," Georgie said. "C'mon, Brody. Let's get some ice cream."

_Two goofy smiles in a few days_, Will thought, waiting to see if she'd skip down the hall. _A dog and a girlfriend seem to be working wonders on her._ _And me._

The next morning, Will checked in with and blushingly let her know he wouldn't be home that night and needed her to stay over and help with the dog. He felt like he was 18 again. But he didn't care. Elizabeth loved him. She wanted him to love her. Life was perfect. He only needed to get through the next nine hours, until he saw her again.

Oh, and that lunch with Charles. He'd better pick someplace loud so no one would notice the patented Bingley Bellow of Delight. Fortunately, Bingley was insistent on seeing "the new digs" on East 76th, so he showed up for the grand tour, and met Will's new assistant, Nathan, and two of the architects. Like everyone else, he was besotted with Brody and decided they must dine al fresco so that Brody could accompany them

"Darce, you're a doggy daddy!"

They strolled by the Park, where they eyed a few food trucks before deciding to head to a nearby tavern. Charles talked nearly non-stop, marveling at the changes in his friend.

"Look at you, Will! You're in a sweater vest! No tie! What are you going to do with all those $3,000 suits?" Suddenly Charles gasped and clutched his chest in mock horror. "What will Barneys do without you? I should sell my stock."

"The budget suffers in other ways," Will replied. "More takeout, more plaid shirts and khakis."

Charles glanced at his best friend. "You're amazingly relaxed for a guy having an early mid-life crisis."

"Who says it's early? Or mid-life?" Will scoffed. "God, Charles, I'm not even 30, you know."

They stopped, checked a menu and sat down at a sidewalk table. To Charles' bemusement, Will pulled out a collapsible bowl from his pocket and poured in some water for Brody. Both men ordered burgers, fries and beer.

"Regular fries, not the garlic ones," Will emphasized to their server.

"This is how I know you're different, Will. A beer at lunch," Charles said.

"Not even our fathers did the three-martini lunch thing," Will observed. "And we are not them, anyway."

Charles lifted his pilsner glass. "To them that spawned us."

He leaned back and eyed his dark-haired friend. "New dog, new job, new office, new duds…. Anything else you want to tell me?"

Will sipped his beer and scratched Brody's ears. "You've just about covered it. Well, there is one more thing," he said slowly. "You don't have any problem with your best man dating Jane's maid of honor, do you?"

He'd counted to six before the patented Bingley Bellow of Delight was heard.

* * *

The evening rain couldn't dampen their happiness and a bottle of good wine only fueled their enthusiasm. Elizabeth and Will stumbled through the front door, wet and laughing. She leaned in, stood on her tiptoes and slid her hand up Will's cheek, then drew him down and touched her lips to his. She began to pull away but his hand caught her arm. "Oh, Elizabeth." His lips crashed onto hers and everything went messy and glorious.

She moved her lips over to his jaw and scattered kisses; he moaned her name again and caught her lips in his. The door was against her back and his weight was upon her. The hands that had been cradling her head were moving now, gliding over her shoulders to her hips and along her arms. His lips were buried in her neck but he held himself back and away from her. She slid her hands around his waist, pulling him toward her. All of his heat, his hard heat was on her now. She moved her hand down his chest, around his waist, bringing him closer and closer.

Then she stilled and whispered, "Will, I can't be responsible for ruining another sweater. We need to get out of these wet things."

He stepped back, breathing heavily, his black curls plastered to his forehead.

"Okay."

"C'mon, Sweater Boy. My room is this way."

Sometime later, they curled up under the covers, their heads close together on the pillows, and their voices soft. Will's finger traced the slight dip of her clavicle, his newly discovered favorite part of her body.

"You're so beautiful, Elizabeth. I love this, here."

Her eyes dipped down to watch his tender touches. She reached over, brushing her hand across the soft hair on his stomach and onto his hipbone. "This bit here is my favorite.

"But I like what's down there even better."

He gasped. "You are a bawdy woman, Miss Bennet. Not to mention gorgeous, sexy, amazingly hot, and lovely. And you're mine."

Elizabeth snuggled closer and stretched her arm across his waist.

"Uh-hmm. And you belong to me." She hugged him a little tighter. "Who did you talk to, about us, about me? Robin?"

Will shook his head. "He knows some of it. I could barely figure it out myself and he and I are, um, slightly competitive…. Well, I figured he would think it funny how badly I screwed up. Since I'm so _amazing_ at everything."

"Poor baby." She smiled, and gazed at him with such warmth and happiness he thought his heart would burst.

"But he was actually helpful," he managed to say. "And you? Charlotte?"

"Hmm. Yes and no," Elizabeth replied. "She had us figured out from day one but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Besides, she found you way too cute."

"But she's gay…" he trailed off, a bit confused.

"I know. Lucky for me." She smiled wanly and looked at her toes peeking through the sheets. "Actually, I've spent most of my time of late navel gazing and confiding in my new BFFs: Denial, Resentment, Self-recrimination and Regret. They're quite a foursome."

"Don't. Please, just don't dwell on that." His fingers traveled down her shoulder to her wrist. He traced the links in her tattooed bracelet and he gave her a gentle smile. "I love you."

"You're in love with a tattooed lady. How's the family going to handle that one?"

"The only family that matters to me is Georgie. And the family I make with you."

Her eyes widened but Elizabeth stayed quiet, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her own. His hands were so much larger, and she noticed, they weren't soft and pampered, but hard, graceful and calloused. And they were so very gentle and eager. They owned her.

She'd been astonished at the sensations he created in her with a touch of his hand or his tongue. He was tender and thorough, making sure she was pleased before gently plunging in and staking his claim. It had been incredible and he'd been amazing. Yet he'd endured months of mocking headlines over his prowess because some woman thought it was funny to cheat on him? Fie on her and those other plastic-boobed, liposuctioned women. He was hers now.

There was a conversation they hadn't had, she realized. The personal history bit.

"I thought you might be out of practice, but you didn't seem rusty to me. Dare I ask how long it's been?" She looked down and bit her lip.

"Forever," he smiled.

She smiled. "Can you be more specific?"

Will gazed at her. One of those hands she loved moved to cradle her cheek and he touched her jaw with his thumb. His eyes were suspiciously shiny. "No one in the last year."

_No one? He really had been celibate?_ "But what about that woman, the Italian one?"

He looked puzzled. "Who?"

"The one from the benefit. The picture…?" she trailed off.

"Oh Lizzy, no. She wasn't a date. She was running the event. I had a photo taken with her after I gave her a check. There's been no one. No one but you. Not a date, not a look. No one."

_He called me Lizzy._

Will pulled her closer and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "There's been no one since I met you. Or before, it seems. Loving you has given me amnesia."

Now her eyes were misty. Elizabeth sat up and reached for a tissue. She had to make him stop this sweetness. She wasn't used to it and it overwhelmed her.

"Oh, so you were a reconstituted virgin, big guy?"

"My heart was." He looked at her carefully. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

She paused and then closed her eyes. "Not really. We're the same. There's been no one for me in a year. He lasted a few months. But I've mostly been a loner type. Group dates."

She leaned over and kissed his nose. "My heart was untouched too."

And he pulled her back down into his arms and once again Will Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet figured out how Tab A fit into Slot B.

* * *

Two weeks later…

**_Page 6 has Darcy scoop!_**

_Pictures don't lie, they tell a thousand stories. And it appears that William Darcy has his mojo back and isn't afraid of a little PDA. The man who dropped out of sight a few months ago has not just emerged as the head of the city's hottest boutique architectural firm overseeing the renovation and expansion of Haven Hospital. He was also caught on camera last week showing off the foundation of love he seems to be building with Elizabeth Bennet, LCSW. Better watch those hands, Darce. Or should we be watching Lizzy's ring finger? _

* * *

**Notes:**  
Elio's: A sentimental favorite of mine and so old-fashioned, they have no website.

Del Posto

Hearth

Jenga: The wooden tower building game.

Greywacke Arch: Named for the Hudson Valley sandstone with which it is built, this is one of the Park's most ornamental arches. It has a trefoil design and a pointed arch.

Cedar Hill: A pastoral landscape undulating softly down to a shallow green valley.

Barneys: Where Bingley buys his clothes, and assumes Will does too.

Food trucks: Great fusion food cooked onboard retrofitted trucks and busses with full kitchens which roam our cities and Tweet the day's menu and location. A great idea born in L.A.

Kim Possible: A truly great TV teen crime fighter, with Ron Stoppable and his naked mole rat.

Freaks & Geeks: One season, 18 episodes, sheer brilliance. Where Judd Apatow, Seth Rogen, James Franco, and so many more got their start. Watch it.

Arrested Development: More television brilliance, with helpless giggling fits.

PDA: Public Display of Affection


	18. Chapter 18

_The countdown is over. We have an HEA. But there's a little more left to this story (and a bit more Neruda) so our couple, their friends and family, can come full circle. I want to thank all the readers, especially those who chimed in with reviews, for giving my first big story a try. I've truly appreciated your thoughts and encouragement, and especially loved hearing from readers who liked the use of math and numbers in this story. (Sorry at least one of you thinks E&D are OCC. If you do the math correctly, it took a lot longer than one hour and two 10-minute conversations for E&D to fall in love. Methinks you missed a few scenes.) For those of you who asked about Iowa, it is a lovely place full of incredibly nice people. I visit it a few times a year. But we're still in NYC in our story, and things are moving ahead a bit quickly. I guess this is the Mature part of the story? Kinda, sorta. Oh-and one last Game Night!_

**Chapter 18**

After nearly three weeks of total bliss, William Darcy had discovered that the only thing black and white about Elizabeth Bennet was the tattoo on her wrist. Her opinions were infused with insight and empathy—especially when it came to food or politics—and her wardrobe included rich colors—though few prints. She was sturdy of mind and flexible in body—attributes Will greatly enjoyed exploring.

At this moment, he was tracing her back with his fingers, gently kneading her tense muscles and kissing her in that sensitive spot just below the shoulder blades.

"Why didn't you get any more tattoos?" he asked her softly. "I mean, I'm rather glad you didn't. But why was Charlotte the only one who kept doing it?"

"Doing it?" she laughed sleepily into her pillow. "Charlotte likes ink. She likes when art makes a statement. And she likes needles." Elizabeth paused as Will coughed. "I know, it's kinda gross."

She rolled over and stretched her arms over her head, presenting Will with the full frontal view he adored. "You're a guy. Didn't any of your college buddies try to pull you into a tattoo parlor after some all-night bacchanal?"

"No," he scoffed, amused she could even imagine him at such a party. He eyed her jutting hipbone, and reached over to run his finger along its ridge and over to the gentle dip of her belly button. He circled it with his fingertip and leaned closer to kiss its center.

"My poor, sheltered boy," Elizabeth said, pouting. "No one at Harvard ever pierced their roommate's ear using a needle, an ice cube and a potato?"

Will shuddered. "Please, spare me the details. Weak stomach. Med school would have been a nightmare."

He leaned upward to kiss her brow.

Elizabeth's hand snaked down between them and gently grasped him. "Oh yes," she sighed. "All those bodily fluids are so icky."

The dark brown eyes hovering over hers lit up and squeals of laughter soon turned to groans of pleasure.

The next morning they headed out in the early May sun for a run in the park; Elizabeth was still training for her 10K in June. Will and Brody kept up for the first mile until the four-legged sprinter found a squirrel to chase and a puddle to splash through. She waved off her boys as they headed home for a bowl of water and a cup of orange juice.

Will had to get ready for a site meeting and a visit from Robin, freshly returned from three weeks in Machu Picchu and thus completely unaware of what Georgie called "the new and improved Will." He headed to the bedroom for a shower, picking up a camisole from the floor and tucking Elizabeth's fuzzy slippers under the bed. They had spent nearly every night together since the weekend after their first kiss, but tonight he would be alone. She had a Haven night out, celebrating Mary King's engagement to a Brooklyn real-estate mogul.

He loved having Elizabeth's things here. An empty glass on the end table, her yogurts in the fridge, two toothbrushes in his bathroom. He wanted them here not as backup, but permanently. He wanted her here, all the time. Jane was moving in with Charles at the end of the month, and he desperately wanted to ask Elizabeth to move in with him, Georgie and Brody. Was their weeks-old relationship too fragile, too new for such a step? Would he mess things up if he asked?

Will wanted to ask her another question too, eventually, but he was sensible enough to understand that it was far too soon. Baby steps were required. But this morning, perhaps feeling vulnerable at the prospect of a night apart, he pulled down his mother's jewelry box from the top shelf of his wardrobe and gazed at her engagement ring. Anne Darcy was buried wearing her wedding band, but had left her son this ring—an emerald with a diamond band. Modern, smart, stunning. Like Elizabeth.

* * *

"Where the hell are the M&Ms?" Robin asked grumpily.

Will had shown his cousin around the new offices. He'd presented him as the annoying relative they should expect to stop by when least expected (or needed). He'd provided him a quick overview of the plans for Haven, alongside the drawings done by his mother. He'd introduced him to Brody, who seemed to find Robin an especially good-smelling sort of person. All of this, and Robin was focused on a candy bowl?

"Robin, you're the one who kept warning me about killing the cleaning lady at Pemberley. Peanut M&Ms are a liability if anyone with allergies comes in here."

Robin glared at him. "Is Nathan, or anybody else here allergic to peanuts?"

Will shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Then what the hell?"

Will eyed his cousin. Robin was always full of energy and opinions, but today he seemed tense and, for lack of a better word, jumpy. It was very unusual behavior. Lunch, and a healthy walk to get there, might help.

He grabbed his jacket. "Let's go eat."

As they walked, he asked Robin about his trip. His cousin perked up and raved about the climbing, the ruins, and the people he'd met on the trip. "Shocking number of women in the group."

"Shockingly good or shockingly bad?"

Robin chuckled and led them to Murphy's Bar. "I need a beer."

Will, dressed in jeans and a blazer over his polo shirt, glanced at his elegantly clad cousin, the epitome of corporate banking.

"A beer is your definition of casual Friday?"

"Sadly, it is. I have a 3 o'clock meeting. One beer before 12:30, cleansed by iced tea. And lots of garlic, so no one smells the alcohol."

Will laughed. "Always thinking ahead."

He flagged down a waiter and they ordered sandwiches and beers. Robin listened to Will's order and his eyebrows rose.

"Hungry? I haven't seen you with this kind of appetite in months." He leaned back and appraised his cousin. No dark circles under his eyes, his hair longer than usual, his eyes alight with happiness….

"Well, I'll be damned. You did it. You took Dr. Robin's advice."

Will rolled his eyes. "Dr. Robin?"

"Call me Doc. You took those steps I prescribed, didn't you?"

Will nodded and fought back a smile.

"Really. You and Elizabeth? That's fantastic." Robin grabbed his beer from the waiter and took a drink. "Damn, Will. I might need two beers for this story."

Will filled him in on the past few weeks, telling him a less-edited version than he'd given Charles, about how he and Elizabeth had finally managed to take those last few steps.

Robin listened with a smile on his face. "So," he said, leaning forward, "I guess no complaints that you suck in bed?"

Will flushed. He looked at his hand, currently holding a pilsner glass but which last night was more pleasantly engaged in caressing the beautiful curves and hollows of Elizabeth's pliant, deeply aroused and highly responsive body. He closed his eyes for a moment and then looked his cousin right in the eye.

"No comment."

Robin grinned. "I told you I had great expectations for you, Darce." He leaned back in the booth, smirking, and put his hands behind his head. "I did mention that when I met her last Christmas, she was buying that "sexy shades" book, didn't I?"

"Robin."

"Aw, you know I can't resist." He sighed. "I'm really glad for you, Will. You look incredibly happy. You haven't shredded your napkin or played with your fork the whole time we've been here. Restaurateurs owe Elizabeth a great deal. Think of the overhead she's saved them."

_She saved me_, Will thought. _She loves me._ He knew it every time she smiled at him, or kissed him or gave him that intense look, clutched him tighter and whispered his name just before she came.

"I'm gonna marry her, Robin. If and when she's ready."

"Darce, it's been two weeks."

"Almost three. And technically, for me, it's been six months. I've been in love with her since January. I just didn't… she didn't love me back until April."

"Last month."

"Technically." Will crossed his arms and leaned back. "But it's nearly June."

Robin sighed. "Dammit, Darce. I miss having you in the office. The stodginess quotient has gone through the roof. Nobody laughs, nobody plays fantasy football.

"And with you gone, I'm the new heir apparent. They want me to cut back on the climbing because it's dangerous, and sit behind a desk all day."

"You've been gone for nearly three weeks, Robin," Will noted dryly.

"Yeah, well, I'm dreading what lies ahead."

"Ah, my cousin would never be mistaken for Bartleby the Scrivener."

"I can't help my split personality," Robin said plaintively. "I like the numbers and the strategizing. I even like the goddam board meetings and trying to figure out what's going on behind all those blue and green and brown eyes."

"But?" Will said.

"A man's gotta climb."

"Because it's there."

"Yup," Robin nodded. "Because it's there."

He took a long drink of the iced tea which had supplanted his lone and emptied beer. "I'm happy for you. I hope you know that. You've upended your life. WDIV, Haven, that windfarm deal with Brandon. And a dog, which I might add, is long overdue.

"But especially, I'm happy about Elizabeth. It's good to see you so happy. It's a new you."

Will nodded. He thought he felt a lump in his throat but took a quick drink and it was gone.

Robin reached for the salt shaker and started toying with it. "I met a woman in Peru."

"She lives in Peru? Talk about long-distance romance."

"No, for god's sake. She's in Chicago. She's a trader. Soy futures." He spilled a little salt and immediately took the shaker and tapped some granules over his shoulder.

"I know it's hard to take me seriously, but I really like her, Darce. And she's in Chicago."

Now it was Will's turn to sit back and listen to his cousin's romantic woes.

* * *

_I am old._ Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in chagrin and a fair amount of disgust. Bodies were whirling on the dance floor, hookups new and old were being finalized for the night, and a few too many of her friends were lucky she was present and sober. She'd already put two girls in a cab home.

_I am stodgy. I'd rather be home with Will and Georgie, eating popcorn and watching old movies. _They were on a mission to make sure Georgie went to college fully armed with the knowledge of Hollywood's heyday. Thus, they were making their way through the American Film Institute's List of 100 Greatest Films, as well as some of Elizabeth's personal favorites, like anything starring Cary Grant or William Powell and anything by David Lean or Merchant-Ivory. The Darcy siblings had seen quite a few of the films the previous summer when Georgie was laid up, so things were moving along. Elizabeth had told them to go ahead and watch "On the Waterfront" and "Marty" without her tonight; she'd seen them with her father a Christmas or two ago. She would spend the night at her place, with Jane and her packing boxes. Her sister planned to be ensconced by June 1 at her new address on the Upper West Side.

Elizabeth watched Mary King and her fiancé, Ed, get stopped by more well-wishers. _How does she find them? Always a boyfriend, and now, apparently, the real thing: true love with a rich guy_. The Brooklynite had done well for himself. He and Mary had real chemistry; the art therapist had always moved quickly from man to man, but this one was different. Elizabeth couldn't put her finger on it, but she saw a serenity in Mary and a connection between the two which made her think they would last. And the ring was stunning.

Elizabeth had seen that in Jane too. _Do people see that in me? Do they see what I feel for Will?_ Elizabeth had never been an open book, her emotions had usually been deeply buried below sarcasm and wit. But these past few weeks, really the past few months, she'd felt exposed and vulnerable. And now, deeply in love and deeply involved with Will, everything felt different. She felt safe and protected by his love yet more open to the world. _And_, she thought wryly, _more prone to murmuring thoughts that sounded like rejects from Hallmark cards._

So many engagement parties, so little time. She glanced at her watch. _Ten o'clock._ _How much longer till it was polite to leave?_ Elizabeth sat back and viewed the room. Everybody was having a good time, except…over there, that woman had just spilled her drink on that guy. His shirt was soaked. Transfixed, she waited for his reaction. He began to laugh, and the girl threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

_Woulda, shoulda, coulda. That's it. I'm outta here. _

Elizabeth was subdued when she entered her apartment. The stripped walls and stacks of boxes did nothing to help lift her mood.

"Jane? Janey?" Elizabeth walked to her sister's bedroom, and found the door open and the bed stripped.

She turned to her own door and found a note. _Lizzy-Texted you. I waited and it was too depressing here so I went to be with Charles. Meet you tomorrow. And Mary says she definitely wants the bedroom. -Jane_

Elizabeth crumpled the note and plopped down on the sofa_. Mary and her clunky boots and her bossy attitude_. She sighed. _Do I want her to have it? Do I want her here?_

She pulled out her phone and found Jane's message. There were two from Will as well. _Hope you're having a bit of fun. Don't spill on any tall, dark men_.

An hour later, he'd sent another one: _Miss you. XO_

Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up underneath her. She didn't want to sleep here alone. She didn't want to sleep alone. Period. It wasn't just the sex, which she could happily admit was the best she'd ever had, even in her cramped little room. He'd only stayed here once—that rainy night that was their third night as a couple but their first time together.

Although they'd had dinner with Georgie a day later, neither of them had been quite ready to make love with her sleeping down the hall, so Will had taken Elizabeth back to the Village, where they'd managed a steamy makeout session in the vestibule. They'd separated, painfully, and he'd headed home.

But the following evening, Georgie's art club had held a sleepover and a morning visit/scavenger hunt at MOMA. Elizabeth had packed a bag, and she and Will had cooked dinner together, a bit nervously. His kitchen was way too high-tech for her cooking skills, so she'd made him broil the fish while she handled the rest. He'd never actually used the broiler—a point he'd neglected to confess—so their combined genius had left them with a smoky kitchen, a well-tested smoke alarm, and a light dinner of vegetables and pasta. They'd laughed at their domestic skills until Will had stopped laughing and leaned her against the counter and started kissing her. He'd lifted her up to sit, and within minutes, their shirts were unbuttoned and zippers were unzipped. Common sense had finally reared its head and they'd run to his bedroom, a vast expanse of dark woods, large windows and a king-size bed. Elizabeth had stopped to take it all in.

Will had taken her hand.

"I thought of you everywhere I went, but this is where I dreamt of you," he'd said quietly.

"Oh, do tell," she'd murmured.

"I'd rather show you."

They'd spent the night most creatively. There was room to move on that bed, and so many pillows that Elizabeth had lost count.

"Stretch out, Lizzy, I want to kiss you," he'd mumbled, and his lips had worked their way from her toes to her nose. His hands had been just as busy. The gentle fingers on those calloused hands would brush across her nipples and send Elizabeth higher. Every "Oh god" she'd cried out held her gratitude for the thick walls which kept their pleasures private.

When her own quivering had slowed, she'd begun a slow, torturous exploration of Will's body. Elizabeth liked his slim ankles and his long, lean calves and had nipped at them gently to make him writhe and moan. She'd run her fingers over him while her mouth had descended achingly slowly. Will had gasped when she'd used her teeth. His eyes had been wild as she had leisurely sank onto him. They'd made love two more times that night, and again in the morning. She hadn't felt up to running much the next day, and was secretly happy it had rained and washed away her lazy guilt.

Now, her reverie fading, Elizabeth had come to a realization.

_I don't want to sleep here. I don't care if we don't have sex. I want to sleep in Will's bed, with him. Oh man._ _Maybe it's just PMS_, she rationalized. _Maybe I'm just hormonal and emotional_.

Elizabeth picked up her phone and texted Charlotte.

_You up? Call me if you are._

Within two minutes, Charlotte's sleepy voice filled her ear.

"What's up, LizBiz?"

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I had an extra glass of pinot at John's, so I'm just slurring. And Sid's cuddled up on my chest, so forgive me if I giggle or scream for no reason. What's up?"

"I don't know what to do. I just got home, and Janey went to Charles' place and I'm all alone with her boxes and I hate it here."

"Why aren't you at Will's?"

"I had this Haven thing, and I thought he and Georgie should have some time together before she leaves for camp." _Because I'm an analytical idiot._

"Have you two spent a night apart since you got together?"

"Um, yes. Twice. Last week, he and Georgie had to go to New Haven for some orientation thing, so Jane and I hung out."

"Let me guess, you did yoga and watched Ina Garten on the Food Network, didn't you?" Charlotte sighed. "And now Jane's moving out and you're going to be alone?"

"Not exactly. Mary's moving in."

There was a long pause. "Charlotte?"

"Hmm. I thought Robert and Mary were moving in together. Hmm. Are you sure you're only getting one roommate?"

Elizabeth stared at the kitchen wall where Jane's bayleaf wreath used to hang. _I think I'd prefer Robert over Mary as a roommate. He's nice and quiet. Will likes him too._

"I don't know."

"Liz, why don't you just move in with Will?"

Elizabeth swallowed and stared down at her red-painted toenails. "Char, it's only been a few weeks."

"The best weeks of your life, if I might quote you," Charlotte replied dryly. "If it doesn't work, you'll have a place to go back to. But if you're there, Uptown, every night? And Haven is within walking distance? And need I remind you, the Darcys live in a fucking mansion on the Upper East Side?"

"I know, but…."

"God, Liz. Chance it. Remember how shocked you were when I moved in with Willa? You thought I was nuts. `Too soon! Have you checked her credit rating?' All that crap you gave me? Well, sometimes it's just right. Hell, look at me now. Look at John and Priya. He's so head over heels, he actually got her father's permission to court her."

"Moving fast is good, huh?"

"It is when it feels right. Sometimes you just know." Charlotte snorted. "Stop it, Sid. Sorry…and you_ know_ it's right with Will. He's a keeper."

Elizabeth sighed. "Well, he hasn't asked me. But maybe I'll take more stuff over there. It's so depressing here. And I miss Brody."

"Ah. Now it comes out." Charlotte shifted into a Cockney accent. "`It's the dog, your honor, not the sex that made me do it!'"

"Shut up, Char," Elizabeth giggled. "Kiss your furry boyfriend goodnight. I need to call my human, less hairy, meat-eating boyfriend."

Her phone had buzzed three times while she'd been speaking with Charlotte, and when she checked, there were messages from Will and Georgie.

Will: _Are you home? Text me so I know you made it. XO_

Georgie: _E-please come save me from this lonely, hovering brother. It doesn't feel right without you here._

Will: _Ignore her. I am not annoying. Brody misses you. Me too. Please call. XO_

And so she did. Within five minutes, Elizabeth had packed a bag, eager to go home and curl up with her favorite footwarmer and his owner. Will (and Brody) were outside Hunsford Place in his Mercedes in less than half an hour.

He popped the question over breakfast the next morning. After Georgie had set the table with the green and gray Russel Wright dishes, handed Elizabeth her coffee in her favorite mug, declared it was waffle day and wandered off to the pantry for the waffle iron, Will sat down beside Elizabeth and smiled. He lifted her hand, kissed her fingers, and asked her to consider moving in.

"On a trial basis, if you'd like."

With two pairs of beseeching eyes gazing at her, and Brody's chin resting on her thigh, Elizabeth felt happily outnumbered. She nodded and kissed Brody's nose.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Georgie's talent with waffles, Will's constant stockpile of bagels, and Mrs. Reynolds' ever-present casseroles and soups and lasagnes kept Elizabeth carbed up. She flew out the door of her new home every morning at 5:30 and began her run toward the Reservoir. Georgie, now a high school graduate free of the morning alarm clock, would join her once in a while and could manage a mile or two. More often, Will was at her side to pace her. With their help, the 10K in Brooklyn was a breeze. Elizabeth checked that box off of her to-do list; November's marathon awaited her.

She covered a lot of miles upstate. Elizabeth had fallen in love at first sight with Will's country house. They took rambles in the woods and soaked in the hot tub. Work went on at Haven, making it hard for either of them to get away during the week, but with Georgie off on an Outward Bound biking trip, she and Will (and Brody) spent as much time as possible in Milbrook.

There, she saw a new side to her boyfriend. Watching him in his workshop elicited an almost primal reaction in her. Brawny forearms, the smell of sawdust, the sound of whirring saws…. When she heard the machines click off, Elizabeth practically tackled her man and they staggered to find a safe, splinter-free surface to satiate their desires. She made a mental shopping list to make sure Will's city wardrobe included more flannel shirts and more chambray anything.

They talked about a trip to Tuscany after Georgie left for school. Which she did, in late August, waving goodbye from her window in Ezra Stiles College to a quietly emotional Will. Elizabeth left them alone for the final goodbye, and she took over the driving back to the city to allow him to collect his thoughts. Georgie had made them both promise to come for Parents' Weekend, and to get everyone together over Thanksgiving break for Game Night.

Two weeks after a successful 26.2 mile trek across the five boroughs of New York, Elizabeth's official runner #247 sheet remained pinned to the kitchen bulletin board, alongside Georgie's final high school report card, graduation announcement, a few business cards, a menu for Pad Wan Suk, pictures of Will and Georgie in their younger years, and a photo of an exuberant, marathon-depleted Elizabeth in Will's arms.

On a cool and dry November afternoon, Elizabeth found a red rose on her desk at work, and a sealed note from Will. _Dinner? Meet you at Mickey's at six._

She stepped out of Haven's front doors at the stroke of six and hurried to the diner, where she found Will in a corner booth, talking on his phone. The diner was a surprising choice, but she enjoyed catching up with Juanita, who was delighted to see the couple there together. Elizabeth teased Will about his charming ways of getting her workmates to serve as his delivery couriers. He smiled, but seemed preoccupied. After the meal, he suggested a walk and they headed out on the quiet street toward Haven.

As they neared the hospital, she was happily surprised to find that white fairy lights had been strung in all the trees, and wreaths hung on the bases of the statues. "Oh, Christmas already? How pretty…they've never done this before!"

Will smiled and pulled a red bag out of his pocket. He held it out to her.

"Why don't you finish the job?"

She reached inside and pulled out four little stocking hats. Laughing gaily, she walked to each of the four animals and carefully arranged a winter cap on each ones' head. She turned to grin at Will. He smiled back and slowly lowered one knee to the ground.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

**_Shut The Front Door! Darcy's Caught!_**

_All those PDAs from Will Darcy led to something. Check out Elizabeth Bennet's hand! Do we see an engagement ring? Our experts call that a 5-carat stunner. Congrats! Another of New York magazine's Hot! (and Smart) bachelors is off the market! Sorry, singletons. Maybe Channing Tatum will move here….._

* * *

Perhaps it was Caroline's prideful statement that she was bringing Prada to the people, but it took only five minutes for the Cincinnati jokes to begin. Oddly, it was Robin who put a stop to it.

Weeks of commuting to Chicago to see his mountain-climbing girlfriend had seemingly made him more sympathetic to cities beginning with the letter C and the women who lived in them.

But it all began when Charles couldn't stop himself. "We got trouble my friends, right here in New York City. Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with C and that stands for Caroline!"

As Charles channeled "The Music Man," he remembered moves from his cheerleader days, twirling around and pumping his arm. Until he nearly clocked a beer-toting Will.

"Hey, be careful! Spilling on Will is my job," Elizabeth cried. "He's in his new birthday sweater and if anyone is going to inaugurate it, it's me."

"Odd she hasn't done that already," Robin added, smirking. He put his arm around Charles. "Your sister flew all the way here to eat turkey and spend time with her family. Do play nice."

"But Cincinnati is called the River City," Charles protested.

"Yes, but `The Music Man' was set in Iowa," Willa chimed in.

"Godawful musical," opined Robin. He looked around for the dog. "Hey Brody, try this wienie!"

Caroline's lip curled in distaste and a chastened and confused Charles headed off to the kitchen to find solace in the Darcy-Bennet larder. Jane followed, mumbling about creative outlets and fragile male egos.

The Hursts were home with their new baby girl—aptly named Autumn—but the rest of the Game Night crowd was gathered in the living room. Georgie and Katie had devised teams, arranged seating, and when not comparing notes on horrible professors, inane grading systems and quirky roommate, were making bets on the evening's outcome.

Robert and Will were talking quietly in the corner about windfarms and the latest Jared Diamond book. Mary, newly introduced to Robin, was taking his measure.

"You climb?"

"I do."

"Favorite peaks?"

"Denali, Cilaltépetl and Iztaccíhuatl, but I just did the Inca Trail. Might be my favorite now," Robin said dreamily.

"Ah. Robert and I just did Mount Katahdin. We're planning on Mt. Shasta next year." Mary looked over at her boyfriend, laughing at something her sister's usually quiet fiancé had said.

"Our budget has us tied to North American peaks, for now." She glanced at her older sisters and sighed. "And two weddings next year? At least Jane and Charlie have set a date."

Robin nodded sagely. "Yeah, seriously. Will and Liz have been engaged for nearly two weeks. Lazy codfish, the rest of us have lives too. I'll give my cousin a nudge. You harass your sister, okay?"

"Deal."

"Pinky swear?" Robin extended his hand and Mary grasped it.

"Mary, my dear, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Across the room, Willa was chatting with the party's youngest players. Katie was expressing her concern over the ferret romance going bad in TriBeCa. "They've had to separate Sid and Nancy," she confided to Georgie.

Georgiana was wide-eyed, unfamiliar with the storied couple. Recognizing a fresh audience for her story, Willa recounted her ferrets' fairytale romance, concluding with the latest, sad turn in their relationship. Apparently, Sid was fixated on a stuffed bumblebee Willa had won at Coney Island. Now she and Charlotte were trying to console Nancy by introducing her to various Beanie Babies, hoping she might find a new, inert companion. Georgie swallowed a laugh and offered up a few of hers.

"The butterfly has really colorful jewel tones," she said carefully. "That could do it."

Caroline stared at the group, nostrils flaring. "Georgie, dear. What's that on your wrist?"

Georgie pulled up her sleeve and held up her right hand. "Oh, this?"

Everyone's attention was drawn to the girl's wrist, which sported a delicate flower tattoo. "It's the first link."

Katie held up her wrist as well. "We match. One flower a year until we graduate, and then we'll connect the daisy chain."

Georgie grinned. "There's the Tattooed Trio, and the Daisy Chain Duo."

Caroline looked appalled and her attention darted to Elizabeth. "You've gotten these girls inked?"

"No, Caroline. It was their choice. They heard our opinion on it, but they're both over 18," Elizabeth said. She rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen to refill the cheese tray.

"One big happy family," Robin added. He patted the couch. "Where's that dog? Brody, my man!"

Caroline stood quietly for a minute as the party took their seats. Two people were missing. She made her way down the hallway to the kitchen, and stopped in the doorway. Elizabeth sat atop the kitchen counter and Darcy stood between her legs, speaking quietly as she stroked his back. "As if you were on fire from within, the moon lives in the lining of your skin."

"But I thought he sucked in bed," she gasped to herself. "That's what the paper said."

Charlotte, who'd quietly followed Caroline, laughed. "Aw, Caroline. Do you believe everything you read?

"The social x-ray who dumped Will is lucky he hasn't sued her for defamation. I think Lizzy would make quite a character witness."

Then Charlotte's inner imp took over. She smiled, put her arm through Caroline's and drew her back to the living room. "Isn't the ring stunning? I'm not one for jewelry, but that emerald is gorgeous. Will's mother had great taste."

Caroline stared at Charlotte, eyes blinking rapidly, and her mouth emitting a tiny "What?"

"You didn't see it? It matches Elizabeth's eyes. I'm seriously hoping they use that color in the wedding, but knowing Lizzy, it's going to be small and very private. Maybe in Tuscany…they were there last month. Have you seen the pictures?"

Charlotte delivered Caroline to her assigned seat. The missing hosts finally wandered in, messy haired and smiling. Brody followed them and promptly sat down on Caroline's feet. Those sitting closest could hear her whimper, "My Manolos…."

It was game time. Four teams, each comprised of a couple and a plus-one, prepared to face off over Trivial Pursuit. Will, Georgie and Elizabeth chose the blue game piece; the Bingleys and Jane opted for pink; Charlotte, Willa and Robin went with brown; and Robert, Mary and Katie picked green.

Jane looked a bit chagrined to have Caroline on her team, and gave Katie a piercing look. Katie shrugged. "We didn't want to break up any couples. There might be arguments, and that could be so awkward afterward."

"But the makeup sex would be nice," Robin quipped. He was promptly smacked in the face with a throw pillow expertly aimed by his cousin.

"Game on," Will said, smirking.

It was no surprise that Willa, the actuary, was especially sharp with anything statistical or nature-related. Robert was strongest in the arts and literature categories. Charles was his team's undisputed champion in any music or pop culture category, besting the young college girls who had never heard of someone called "The Fonz," and Mary, who proudly and repeatedly commented that she had never owned a television. Each proclamation prompted eye-rolling by her sisters.

"How could you not know Anthony Bourdain?" Jane moaned. "Or McSteamy?"

_Who was France's first Socialist president?_

"Francois Mitterand in 1981," Elizabeth answered.

_This player holds the record for most touchdown passes in one season._

"Um…Peyton Manning?" Charles said.

"No!" cried Caroline and Robin at the same moment. "Tom Brady!"

Everyone turned to look at the unlikely pair. Robin shrugged. "Everyone knows that."

"Well, Brady looks like a Greek God. You have to pay attention," Caroline sniffed. She looked at Robin and smiled. He coughed and looked away.

Mary snorted and picked up another card. _This indigenous North American animal was introduced in Japan because of a popular cartoon show._

Katie looked as though she might burst, and hugged her knees while glaring at the other teams.

"I know this one. Raccoons," Georgie ventured, smiling at Katie and getting a hug in return.

"Yay! Another pie for us!" cried Elizabeth. "Now we just need Arts & Leisure."

Caroline reached for the box of cards. Georgie slid her hand into Elizabeth's and whispered, "Yikes."

Caroline peered at the card and read it slowly. _This painter, who is known for producing fewer than three dozen works, is featured in the writings of Marcel Proust._

Heads turned and brows wrinkled as the entire group pondered the question.

Will smiled and put his arm around Elizabeth. "Vermeer."

Caroline paused. "Can you be more specific? First name?"

"For god's sakes, Caroline. Is it Vermeer?" Charles retorted.

"Johannes or Jan. They're interchangeable," Georgie said.

"Fine. Yes. Have your pie," Caroline huffed. She sat back in the sofa and glanced at Robin. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

Robin averted his own as soon as he could and leaned over to pet Brody, setting off a wildly thumping tail.

"Stop it, you silly animal! That tickles!" Caroline cried. She dropped the bit of brie she was holding and abruptly pulled her feet out from under the dog. Brody jumped up in pursuit of the fine cheese and knocked the board off the table. Game pieces flew, a box of cards went overboard and a crumb-filled plate capsized. The players seized their wine glasses and sodas; only the cherries from Katie's Shirley Temple were lost in the carnage.

"Well," Robin said, one hand on Brody's collar and the other digging his phone of his pocket, "it's time to call Chicago. I think I need a lifeline.

"Carry on," he said as he wandered through the doorway.

The cleanup commenced without him. Jane secured a meeting time with her sisters to get their final dress fittings for the February wedding. Charles texted Marty to let him know he'd won the bet on the game's outcome: _Ruined by Caroline. I owe you $20._

After the last guest left, and Georgie and Katie were settled in the den to watch a movie, Elizabeth and Will leashed up Brody for his final walk of the day.

They strolled down the gaily lit avenue, talking quietly about the evening and laughing at the more outrageous moments. Will wrapped his arm around Elizabeth and kissed the top of her head.

"Next time, maybe we should host some feats-of-strength games," he said. "I think Robin would've had fun with Rock`em-Sock`em Robots."

"Mary, too," Elizabeth agreed. "Everybody gets along fairly well, except for the `usual suspect.' And she's back to Ohio next weekend."

"And we're in Meryton on Thursday. Should be lovely."

"You're sleeping on the couch there, you know." Elizabeth shook her head. "Why do we all have to go _there_? There isn't enough room for you and Charles."

Will squeezed her a little bit tighter. "Bennet girls are worth a bad back, a cramped bathroom, and unrelieved sexual frustration."

"You don't say. How gallant."

"Wait, you did mention a finished basement, right? Is there an old futon we could christen?"

"Ha!" Elizabeth snorted. "You're assuming I come from a house of virginal furniture."

She'd taken three steps before she realized that she and Brody had outstripped Will. She turned around and smiled at her stunned fiancé.

"Oh Will. Good thing we're marrying so young. I'll have at least six or seven more decades to tease you."

He stepped toward her and swept her into his arms for a kiss under a storefront awning.

For Will Darcy, life had become simple. Elizabeth.

"One more thing about tonight, love," he whispered. "Thank you for saving me from another sodden sweater."

"Well," Elizabeth said sweetly. "It _was_ cashmere. Anything for my Sweater Boy."

**The End (for us, anyway).**

_Thanks so much for reading. Please leave me a parting thought and check out my other stories, including three on JustineR's page._

**Notes:**

Bartleby the Scrivener: Herman Melville's oddly diffident worker bee.

AFI Top 100 Movies of All Time

On The Waterfront: No. 19 on the list. Elia Kazan's 1954 masterpiece, with an Oscar-winning performance by Marlon Brando as a prizefighter working on the docks and facing up to corrupt union bosses—and his brother. He "coulda been a contender, he coulda been somebody." The love scene at the swing-set was improvised by Brando when Eva Marie Saint dropped her glove. Beautiful UST. Music by Leonard Bernstein

Marty: 1955's Oscar-winner about two lonely, plain people who find love.

MOMA: Museum of Modern Art

Ina Garten: A chef, aka The Barefoot Contessa

Ezra Stiles College: one of Yale's 10 residential colleges, aka dorms

The Music Man: Despite some fond memories of my high school boyfriend playing Professor Harold Hill, this is my least favorite musical of all time. Makes me shudder.

Social X-ray: A New York society hostess named Nan Kempner inspired the novelist Tom Wolfe to coin the term "social X-ray" when describing, in his book, _Bonfire of the Vanities,_ the skeletal ladies-who-lunch on the Upper East Side.

Rock'em-Sock`em Robots: Everyone has that one toy that Santa never put under the tree. This was mine. My big sister never forgot, though, and gave it to me for my birthday last year!


End file.
